The King Comes Home
by Morwen Tindomerel
Summary: Aragorn returns at last to the North in the Year Two of the Fourth Age. Sequel to 'The King's Folk'.
1. Mission to Bree

An arm slid around Ishbel Butterbur's waist and  
somebody planted a firm kiss on her cheek. She gave a  
little shriek, startled rather than frightened - she  
was in her own kitchen after all - turned, and  
shrieked again, much louder. "Beomann!"   
  
Her eldest son grinned and had just enough time to  
give her another kiss and say, "Hello, Mum." before  
the kitchen door thumped open and a couple of potboys,  
one Big and one Little, charged in, followed by the  
Butterbur's youngest daughter Lusey, and finally the  
Innkeeper himself.  
  
It took Barliman Butterbur two looks to recognize  
the Ranger with an arm around his wife as his eldest  
son. "B-Beomann?"  
  
"Himself! Hello, Dad."   
  
After that things were a bit of a whirl; a lot of  
hugging and a few tears, then the potboys were chased  
out and Lusey went to fetch her sisters and brothers  
and the reunited Butterbur family sat down to a large  
if untimely tea in the best parlor, leaving the Inn to  
run itself.   
  
It was good to have the family all together again.  
Barliman Butterbur told himself, looking at the faces  
around the table. He'd have to enjoy it while he  
could, the children were growing up.   
  
Beomann'd already flown and their pretty Peggy,  
with her bright blue eyes and reddish curls, would be  
next now she was of age, *and* had half the young  
fellows in town making sheeps' eyes after her. Then  
it'd be nineteen year old May's turn, and finally his  
little Lusey's. though she was not so little now  
she'd turned sixteen. Gerry was begining to shoot  
up too, just as Beomann had at fourteen. But at  
least Toby and Brandy were still little boys, happily  
digging into the berry tarts, and making themselves  
red and sticky with the juice.   
  
Their mother remained serenely unaware of the mess  
they were making of her good linen tablecloth, her  
attention entirely on her eldest. "You've lost  
weight," Ishbel complained, eyeing him frowningly,  
"Don't they feed you?"  
  
Beomann swallowed a mouthful of bread butter and  
jam. "Oh yes, but the Dunedain have different customs;  
no proper breakfast, no tea. *And* they don't take  
what I'd call a decent interest in dinner or supper  
either. Downright discouraging it is." shook his head  
sadly. "I've been trying to civilize them but it  
doesn't seem to be taking."  
  
The boy'd lost the last of his puppy fat, his  
father thought a little sadly, and there were lines on  
his face that hadn't been there before. Surely he  
couldn't have grown taller? It was a bit of a shock  
seeing his Beomann in Ranger leathers, complete with  
short bow and long sword, and what's more wearing them  
like he was used to them.  
  
"Are you sure you're Gerry?" Beomann was asking his  
younger brother. "What happened to the roly-poly  
little strawhead who made my life a misery?"  
  
"He grew up." Barliman answered. "Become a real  
help to me he has."   
  
Beomann gave him a sharp look, and Barliman knew he  
hadn't quite managed to hide the sadness he was  
feeling. The hero-worship shining in Gerry's eyes told  
him plain as plain he'd be losing his second boy to  
the Rangers as well, just as soon as he got the  
chance.  
  
"Three whole years you've been away!" Ishbel  
scolded. "With naught but an occasional letter, and  
not a word of warning to let us know you were coming!"  
  
"I didn't know myself until five days ago," Beomann  
explained. "No point in a letter when I'd get here at  
the same time it did - if not before."   
  
"You're on a mission then?" Ishbel asked with a  
curious combination of disappointment and worry.  
  
"That's right." he grinned. "A mission to Bree as  
it happens." that made them stare, Toby and Brandy  
even forgot about their sweets. "The King is coming  
home at last," Beomann explained, "and not above time!  
Which means the realm is finally going to be put on a  
proper footing. Gil thought there should be somebody  
at Annuminas to speak for Bree." quickly. "Not that  
the King would do anything to hurt us, it *is* old  
Strider after all, but how's he to know what we want  
unless there's somebody there to tell him?"  
  
"That's true." Barliman agreed slowly. "I'll call a  
meeting of the Masters of the Town and you can put it  
to them."  
  
Beomann nodded acceptance and changed the subject.  
"You know, sometimes I think nobody here in the North  
is what I thought they were - not even us Butterburs."  
  
Barliman frowned. "Now, what do you mean by that,  
son?"  
  
"You know that good farm Grandad said we'd had at a  
place called Upwood, down south before the Great  
Dying?" His father nodded and Beomann smiled wryly.  
"Turns out it wasn't a farm at all but a manor. Five  
hundred acres, twice what old Oakapple owns,(1) with a  
big stone house and a bit of a village around it."  
  
Barliman blinked, then recovered himself. "Well  
that's a surprise, but then Longbow - Belegon - did  
say our ancestors had been knights."  
  
"I know," Beomann agreed, "I just hadn't thought  
through what that meant." Turned suddenly somber.  
"They've got records of the Plague at Tol Ernil -  
that's where Belegon lives - the last lord of Upwood  
was a Sir Ludo Butterbur. Seems he was friends with  
the Prancers who ran the Pony in those days and sent  
his little son and daughter to stop with them when the  
Sickness reached Cardol. Everybody who stayed behind,  
Ludo, his lady, the villagers, all died."  
  
Nobody said anything. Most of the Big folk of Bree  
were descended from those who'd come north, fleeing  
infection in the days of the King, and the memory of  
that horror still lingered in fireside tales.  
  
"When the plague had burned itself out a Dunedain  
knight who'd been friends with Ludo, collected what  
money there was, the plate and her ladyship's jewels  
and brought them to the children in Bree. But, as you  
know, they never went back. Heribert Butterbur married  
old Prancer's eldest daughter and took over the Pony  
when he died instead." Beomann shrugged. "I guess we  
must have spent or sold all Ludo's treasure long ago."  
  
Barliman's eyes went over his son's shoulder. "Not  
quite all."  
  
Wife and children followed his gaze to the rows of  
silver dishes and cups and platters and bowls and  
tureens on the big oak dresser, each piece delicately  
etched with a sprig of butterbur.  
  
It was Ishbel who finally broke the silence. "I  
remember I used to wonder when I was first married how  
the Butterburs could ever have afforded such a thing,  
and what they'd wanted it for as it just makes the  
food go cold the faster." added hastily at her  
husband's look. "Not that it isn't very beautiful to  
look at!"  
  
Mollified Barliman smiled forgivingly, turned back  
to his eldest. "Well that's a surprise all right, son,  
but it was all a very long time ago and's got nothing  
to do with us now."  
  
"Well, not quite." Beomann said. "It's good land,  
Upwood, and still ours Belegon says, and I thought  
with three younger sons to provide for..."  
  
"Mmm." his father looked thoughtful. "Far is it?"  
  
"Not very - twenty odd leagues or so."   
  
Barliman reflected ruefully his son's ideas of  
what was 'far' had changed sommat. Still, twenty  
leagues wasn't an impossible distance now the Road was  
safe.  
  
It's not much more than a mile off the Greenway,"  
Beomann was saying, "not a bad place for an inn I'd  
say, now we're starting to get traffic from down  
south."  
  
"Mmmmm..." said his father.  
************************************  
  
1. The biggest landowner in the Breeland. 


	2. Journey to Annuminas

  
"What kind of delegation did the Rover have in  
mind?" Phil Goatleaf wanted to know.  
  
"That's for us to decide." Beomann answered. "I  
thought two from each village, one Big one Little, to  
give everybody a say."  
  
The Masters of the Town, heads of Bree's leading  
families, seated around the big table in the Pony's  
best parlor exchanged looks and nods. That made sense.  
  
"But what are we going to say?" Little Ted Tunnelly  
asked almost plaintively. "What exactly *do* we want?"  
  
Barliman had been rather wondering about that  
himself.   
  
"A charter guaranteeing the Breeland's traditional  
rights and liberties." Beomann said promptly. "We had  
one under the Old Kings, and I'm sure Strider won't  
mind confirming it. But we might want to change a few  
things - customs are different these days." He pulled  
a battered packet of papers out of a pocket, unfolded  
and shuffled through them. "Take this for example -"  
  
By the time the meeting ended Barliman was feeling  
a trifle managed, and was sure his fellow Masters felt  
the same. Not that everything Beomann had proposed  
hadn't made perfect sense, no question but the boy was  
dead right not just about the charter but about the  
changes. It was just Breefolk weren't used to settling  
important matters so briskly.  
  
Normally the Masters would argue a bit, go home to  
mull things over for a week or so, meet again to argue  
some more, spend another week thinking it over, and so  
forth until a consensus formed and the decision made  
itself.   
  
"I know." Beomann said when his father pointed this  
out to him. "That's one of the reasons we need a  
charter. It's not the way the Dunedain do things."  
grimaced apologetically. "I guess I did kind of rush  
you all, and I'm sorry for it, but we don't have time  
for the usual way. Not if we want our delegation to  
make it to Annuminas in time to welcome the King."   
  
And no doubt he was right about that too.   
***  
  
Barliman Butterbur wasn't at all surprised when his  
fellow Masters named him to represent the Big Folk of  
Bree, it was just good sense. He'd travelled more than  
any of them, if only to the Shire and the Angle, and  
he had a son serving with the Rangers.  
  
But he was more than surprised, indeed absolutely  
flabbergasted, when Ishbel announced she would go too.  
His Missis had never set foot beyond the Forgotten Inn  
in all her life, nor wanted too, but now here she was  
intending to go all the way to Annuminas. And she  
wanted to bring their entire brood of children with  
them as well!  
  
Barliman'd expected his Ranger son to pitch a fit  
at the very suggestion but Beomann took it quite  
calmly. "Why not? It'll do the kids good to see a bit  
of the world, and the Road is safe."   
  
"You're sure of that?"  
  
"Certain sure." Beomann answered confidently. "The  
Wild's still a bit chancy, and probably always will  
be, but with the Line back in place and the patrols  
moving again the family'll be as safe on the Road as  
they are in Bree."  
  
Of course the minute they heard Ishbel was going  
all the other wives wanted to come too, and their  
children began teasing to be brought along as well.  
Beomann never turned a hair. "The more the merrier."  
he said, and: "It's not like we don't have plenty of  
room for guests."  
  
So it was a sizeable party that finally set out for  
the ancient capital three days later. The Butterburs  
alone had a carriage and a wagon, six horses to pull  
them and Bob and Hob from the stables to look after  
the horses. Old Nell to ride herd on the boys when  
their mother couldn't. And Goodie, one of the upstairs  
maids, because she was May's best friend and a good,  
hardworking girl who deserved a treat.  
  
Ted Tunnelly represented the Hobbits of Bree, and  
he had his wife, his four younger children, two  
servants, a wagon and a string of riding ponies with  
him. Mr. Gummidge and Little Mr. Underhill from  
Staddle, Mr. Cloverleaf and Little Mr. Delver from  
Combe, and Mr. Elmwood and little Mr. Mossback from  
Archet were similarly encumbered. All in all nearly  
eighty men, women and children together with six  
carriages, twelve wagons and more than fifty horses  
and ponies were on their way to Annuminas.  
  
It all seemed a bit much to Barliman, but Beomann  
remained unperturbed so his father shrugged off his  
own misgivings and saved his worrying for what would  
happen after they got to the city.   
  
As it happened the journey proved every bit as  
smooth as Beomann had predicted. Toby and Brandy  
claimed to have spotted a wolf once, slipping along  
through the brush beside the road, but Barliman caught  
his oldest son's smile and put it down to the boys'  
active imaginations.   
  
Every so often as they rolled slowly along, or made  
camp for the night a Ranger or two or four would  
materialize out of the Wild to exchange a quiet word  
with Beomann before disappearing again, paying no  
attention to the rest of the party beyond a civil nod  
if one happened to catch their eye.  
  
Beomann never introduced his fellow Rangers, nor  
passed on what they told him. Barliman guessed they  
were things he either wouldn't understand or would  
rather not know and asked no questions. Nor did any of  
the others, probably for the same reason.  
****  
  
"Not what I'd call welcoming!" Ishbel said  
disapprovingly.  
  
"Downright forbidding if you ask me." her husband  
agreed.  
  
The cavalcade from Bree had come to a ragged halt  
just under the eaves of the Enchanted Forest with  
everybody staring apprehensively up at tall gates of  
black iron, wrought in the shape of tangled leafless  
trees, looming over them between a pair of dark stone  
towers bristling with iron spikes.  
  
Beomann blew a long, mournful note on a horn, then  
lowered it to grin almost mischiveiously at his  
mother. "They get more cheerful as you go along. This  
is called the gate of Winter. It's meant to look  
bleak."  
  
"In that case whoever made it did a good job!"  
Ishbel snorted.  
  
"You must be sure to tell him so if you meet him."  
  
Ishbel gave him a startled look, then forgot  
whatever she'd meant to say as the gates opened  
smoothly and silently before them.  
  
The Breelanders' carriages, wagons, horses and  
ponies filed reluctantly inside, passing under tall,  
bare black trees. Suddenly a Hobbit child on a pony  
veered off the road to touch one.   
  
"It's not real!" he exclaimed in surprise. "It's  
made of iron."  
  
"Gilpin you come back here this instant!" an angry  
Hobbit mother ordered pre-emptorily.  
  
"They're magic!" Toby breathed, round eyed.   
  
"Yes, but not dangerous." Beomann assured him, one  
eye on their worried parents. "Just about everything  
in Annuminas is more or less magic, but not in a way   
that'll hurt us."  
  
The Breelanders found the bronze and copper 'Gate  
of Autumn' far more pleasing.   
  
"Why this one's actually pretty!" Peg told her  
brother.  
  
"I told you they'd get nicer." he grinned again.  
"Wait till you see the Gate of Summer!"  
  
The gates of pure gold adorned with flowers and  
fruits of precious stones temporarily silenced the  
entire company. They marched along under the  
glittering boughs of golden trees for some minutes  
before Lusey finally found enough voice to whisper:  
"Are those *real* jewels?"  
  
"Absolutely." her brother answered.  
  
Barliman cleared his throat. "Seems a bit  
wasteful."   
  
Beomann nodded. "I think so too, but Elves and  
Dunedain don't - and it is very pretty to look at."  
  
"Be just as pretty with glass." Barliman said  
stubbornly.  
  
"I've said that too." his son answered. "But Dan  
claims Dunedain could see the difference."  
  
Barliman blinked. "How?"  
  
Beomann shrugged. "They see better than we do,  
almost as well as the Elves. Likely glass wouldn't be  
as petty to them."  
  
The silver 'Gate of Spring' while not exactly  
anti-climatic did not overwhelm the way the Golden  
gate had, but: "There *is* a city at the end of all  
this, isn't there?" Barliman asked impatiently as the  
Breelanders found themselves on yet another stretch of  
road, this time flanked by silver trees glistening  
with jeweled leaves and blossoms.  
  
"Nearly there." Beomann answered tranquilly. "Just  
one more gate to go."  
  
"Oh my." Ishbel said weakly. Barliman couldn't find  
his voice at all and stunned silence reigned behind  
them.  
  
The gateposts of the last gate were a pair of  
trees, hundreds of feet high, one of silver with  
clusters of pearl blossoms; the other of gold dripping  
with drooping bunches of glittering topaz flowers.  
  
"This is called the Gate of the Two Trees," Beomann  
said helpfully. "There's a long story behind it -"  
looked thoughtfully at his parents; "- but I won't  
trouble you with it now."  
  
It was questionable whether they heard even that  
much for at that moment the silver and golden gates,  
adorned with images of sun and moon, swung open  
revealing the Golden City of Elendil in all its  
splendor.  
  
It was just after sunset and the golden glow behind  
the Evendim Hills was echoed by the shimmer of gilded  
domes and spires. Below these, in the shadowed streets  
and parks, cool blue lights twinkled into being like  
early stars, mirrored in the waters of innumerable  
channels and pools.  
  
"Welcome to Annuminas." said Beomann.  
  



	3. The City and the King

  
Lusey leaned dangerously far out of the carriage  
window to catch at her brother's cloak as he rode  
alongside. "Beomann, are those *Elves*?"  
  
He glanced over at the circle of sleander, dark  
haired folk sitting in the park they were passing,  
singing under the new stars, and smiled. "They  
certainly are. High Elves out of Lindon or Rivendell  
by the look of them."  
  
"Oh!" Lusey subsided, overwhelmed.  
  
Windows of colored glass glowed like jewels in the  
tall white buildings. Silver-blue globes shone like  
little moons in the trees lining the road illuminating  
the many different kinds of folk below: Dark High  
Elves and fair haired Wood Elves, Dwarves glittering  
with golden ornaments, and tall Rangers dressed like  
lords and ladies of Old but with the familiar grim  
closed faces.  
  
The Elves and Dwarves scarcely spared the  
Breelanders a glance but the Rangers invariably fixed  
those pale, piercing eyes of theirs upon the caravan  
until it'd passed.  
  
"What are they *staring* at?" Ishbel finally  
demanded of her son.  
  
"They don't mean to be rude, Mum," Beomann  
answered, "it's just their way. You remember how  
Strider and Gil and the rest used to sit in their  
corner and watch the Common Room."  
  
"I didn't like that either." his mother grumbled.  
  
"You have to watch every minute in the Wild."  
Beomann explained. "It becomes a habit. Like I said;  
they don't mean anything by it, they can't help  
themselves."   
  
The palace appeared at the end of the avenue,  
golden light pouring from open doors to mingle with  
the silvery illumination of the Elf lamps, shimmering  
over the statues and fountains and colored pavements  
of the great square.   
  
Barliman swallowed. "Is that where we're going?"   
  
Beomann shook his head. "No, I found a place you'll  
like much better."  
***  
  
From the outside it looked just like the other  
grand houses they'd passed. Tall and white with lacy  
galleries of fretted stone overhanging the street and  
windows inlaid with designs in colored glass. But once  
inside -  
  
"Oh! this *is* nice." Ishbel beamed, her husband  
smiled and the rest of the Breelanders relaxed  
visibly.  
  
The hall was large and grand but it was a grandeur  
not unlike their own best parlors, or the big houses  
of the Breeland gentry. The walls were panelled with  
squares of oak, some carved with clusters of serrated  
leaves and acorns, and hung with landscapes of woods  
and fields and a few portraits of people not unlike  
themselves though more grandly dressed.   
  
There was a long, heavy table in the center of the  
black and white checked floor, and straight backed  
chairs and sideboards against the walls, all lit by  
honest yellow lamplight with good green velvet  
curtains shutting out the eerie magical city outside.  
  
"I thought you'd like it." Beomann smiled. "Lady  
Ellian says this house was especially decorated for  
visitors from Cardolan in the days of the King." he  
turned to Mrs. Tunnelly. "And there's a wing with  
Hobbit sized rooms facing the garden."   
  
The house was at least as big as the Pony, if not  
bigger, and their numerous company just filled it  
comfortably. The Hobbits' wing wasn't quite big enough  
to accomodate all the Little Folk but Beomann said the  
overflow'd only have to make do with Big Folk  
furniture for that one night, as more Hobbit sized  
furniture would be found for them in the morning.  
  
The house had clearly been designed to accomodate  
several seperate households with big common rooms for  
dining and the like on the ground floor and the rest  
of the building divided into suites that included a  
parlor or two, several bedrooms, closets, storerooms,  
and a pantry. There was a big kitchen on the ground  
floor and a half dozen smaller ones on the upper  
floors and in the Hobbits' wing.  
  
The house had a stableyard large enough to hold all  
their animals, carriages and wagons on one side. And a  
garden fenced by fancifully wrought ironwork on the  
other. A strip of grass behind sloped down to a wide  
channel of clear water, with white stone steps  
descending to a lamplit quay. The front galleries  
overlooked a broad avenue lined with other grand  
looking houses, the great tower of the Palace rising  
above their gilded domes.  
  
"Now I see why you weren't bothered when half the  
Breeland decided to make the trip." Barliman told his  
son as the bustle of settling in subsided.  
  
Beomann shrugged. "I guessed Mum'd want to come,  
and of course if she did -"  
  
"All the other wives would too." Barliman finished.  
"Just as well they did. The eight of us would have  
rattled round this great place like pips in a dried  
apple."  
****  
  
Three strange ships materialized out of the  
gathering dusk gliding from the Gwathlo mouth to  
intercept the King's flotilla. The crew of the royal  
galley and the Men of the King's guard tensed at the  
sight of them.  
  
"Beat to quarters." the Shipmaster ordered. "And  
send a Man to the masthead to identify their colors."  
  
"They are warships out of Mithlond." a low-pitched  
voice said gently. The Master started, turned to find  
the King had somehow appeared at his elbow. "Sent as  
additional escort, we are entering dangerous waters."  
  
The Shipmaster looked uncertainly at the oncoming  
ships. Sleek, low to the water, grey as mist. "Elves?"  
he asked uncertainly.  
  
Elessar shook his head. "Dunedain. As the Elves  
dwindled my people took on the task of defending the  
northern coasts from the black fleet out of Tol Fuin."  
  
At that moment the oncoming ships unfurled their  
sails and they belled out in the fresh evening breeze,  
grey as twilight and ensigned with the rising moon of  
Isildur.  
  
The three strange ships took up stations in an  
arrowhead formation ahead of the flotilla. The King  
stood watching them, breathing the smoke of sweet  
galenas - a curious habit he shared with the Wizard  
Mithrandir and the Halflings - while everybody else on  
deck stared covertly at him.  
  
Even after three years the Gondorim had not quite  
accustomed themselves to having a King again. Or maybe  
it was *this* King with his elusive ways and habitual  
silence, that disturbing air of sheathed power and his  
curious combination of reserve and familiarity that  
they could not get used to. He was intimidating - and  
fascinating. An enigma to be revered, even worshipped,  
but not understood.  
  
Aragorn knew he was being watched of course,  
however discreet his people tried to be about it, but  
stayed on deck a few more moments anyway. Perhaps if  
he let them look their fill eventually the stares  
would stop. Though after three years he was begining  
to give up hope of it.  
  
When he could stand it no longer he turned and went  
into the stern house, sensing without seeing or  
hearing the sudden relaxation of those he left on  
deck. Sighed in frustration.  
  
*What am I doing wrong?*   
  
Instead of going back to the great cabin, where his  
wife, daughter and attendants awaited him, he lingered  
in the gallery, refilling his pipe. He felt the need  
for a little privacy, to think.  
  
He wasn't at all happy about the continuing  
distance between himself and his Southern subjects.  
He'd expected awe, knowing the Gondorim's near worship  
of the memory of their Kings, and a certain amount of  
apprehension. But he'd also expected time and  
familiarity would ease both - only they hadn't. And he  
couldn't think why. Certainly his people in the North  
had never been either awed or frightened of him.  
  
He grimaced. His Dunedain were going to be very  
unhappy with him, and he had no doubt they would let  
him know it in no uncertain terms. It would be  
interesting to see what his Gondorim made of the  
manners of the North.   
  



	4. A Busy Morning In Annuminas

  
Lusey Butterbur awoke to warm, cedarwood scented  
darkness. She lay for a moment in sleepy bewilderment,  
unable to remember where she was or how she'd come to  
be there, then the whole long journey to the magical  
city of the Kings came back in a rush and she sat up,  
pulling open the bedcurtains.  
  
There it was, the princess's room she'd chosen last  
night, with its oaken panelling and heavy, richly  
carved chairs and tables brightened by blue velvet  
cushions and silver fringed covers. *1   
  
The bedcurtains were so thickly embroidered with  
spring flowers in all the colors of the rainbow that  
you could barely see the thick blue silk beneath, and  
lined with soft felt so light wouldn't shine through  
them.   
  
She was looking straight at a large needlework  
tapestry almost covering the far wall. The girls in  
green dancing hand in hand under the trees were nearly  
lifesized and looked astonishingly real. Some were  
tall and beautiful with long dark hair that fell  
straight down their backs or at most waved a little.  
But there were other, shorter girls with curly brown  
or fair hair and rosy cheeks. And one, the third from  
the end, could almost have been Lusey herself.  
  
The window nearest the bed had half its curtain  
looped back and the lattice with its inlays of colored  
glass pushed open to let in the air. It was also  
letting in birdsong, the soft plash of water and a  
warm golden light that made Lusey wonder just how late  
she'd slept and scramble hastily out of bed.  
  
She pulled back the other half of the curtain,  
pushed the window lattices all the way open - and  
gasped. Gilded domes and spires glowed under the  
morning sun filling the air with a lambent golden  
light. The blue waters of the canal below her window  
sparkled with sunlit reflections, like chips of gold  
leaf. The grass bordering it was a richer, more  
brilliant green than any grass Lusey'd seen before,  
and the stone of steps and quay shone like sunlit  
snow, golden white.   
  
The plashing was being made by the oars of a large,  
heavily laden barge rowing slowly up the canal to moor  
at their landing. Several Men clad in long clothes of  
white and grey or white and yellow climbed out and  
began unloading small sized furniture. One was  
Beomann, another was a Hobbit.   
  
If she'd been at home she'd have grabbed a shawl  
and rushed right downstairs to see what they were  
about. But she wasn't at home. Instead she threw up  
the lid of her leather travelling trunk and dug out  
her best walking out dress. Determined to at least try  
to live up to her surroundings.  
***  
It felt like they were being assailed from all  
sides. Just as Beomann and the young Men with him  
started carrying Hobbit furniture in the back way a  
bevy of young Women, carrying baskets of flowers, came  
in the front. Breelanders, many of them half dressed,  
came down the big staircase to gawk and Little Folk  
popped out of the downstairs doors to inspect the new  
furniture. The whole lot of them milled about the big  
center hall, all talking at once and getting in each  
others' way.  
  
Barliman Butterbur was accustomed to bustle and  
confusion - but now he felt overwhelmed. Probably, he  
decided, because unlike the Pony he wasn't quite sure  
what should be done about any of it.  
  
Fortunately Beomann was sure and began briskly  
sorting them all out. "Dad, you remember Dan. And of  
course you know Trotter here."  
  
Barliman blinked rather blankly down at the Hobbit.  
He was dressed in the same odd sort of clothes as  
Beomann, but white and yellow rather than white and  
grey, and of course he was wearing boots - the only  
Hobbit he'd ever seen go shod. "Yes, indeed. How'd ye  
do, Mr. Boffin." There'd always been whispers that the  
Boffins out on Combe Edge were thick as thieves with  
the Rangers - but nobody'd really believed it. Not a  
fine old family like that. Granted Shirefolk were  
peculiar but not that peculiar! Only it seemed they  
were.   
  
Trotter's mouth quirked a little, as if he was  
reading Barliman's mind, (or more likely his face).  
"Very well thank you, Mr. Butterbur." he said civilly  
enough. "Sorry for all this confusion, we'll get out  
of your way as soon as we can." his glance fell to his  
own eye level. "And who is going to tell us where to  
put the things?"  
  
"I will." all four Hobbit Matrons chorused, then  
glared at each other. Trotter rolled his eyes and  
headed for the door to the Little Folk's wing.  
  
"And this," Beomann resumed, unperturbed, "is  
Emelin, Luithlin, Moredhel, Sorcha and Keina."   
  
Three of the young Women were tall, sleander  
Rangers, one with golden hair. She and a dark haired  
girl were dressed in shades of green, a silver brooch  
incised with four curious looking letters pinned at  
their throat.*2 The other girls wore pewter- and  
silver-grey and their brooches were shaped like a bird  
with a star on its breast. Two of them looked  
different from both Rangers and Bree folk; tall but  
fuller of figure, with honey colored skins and dark  
brown hair and eyes.   
  
"Maybe some of our girls could help with the  
flowers." Beomann suggested pointedly.  
  
The three Butterbur daughers; Peg, May and Lusey,  
Goodie their maid, the two Cloverleaf girls; Blossom  
and Bird, and Tibby Gromwell, (Old Elmwood's  
granddaughter) had been standing in a bunch, listening  
and staring at the strangers. Now they blushed and  
hastily came forward to relieve the other girls of  
part of their burden.  
***  
  
The downstairs part of the house had a huge dining  
hall and several parlors, big and small, all furnished  
with flower bowls of glass or gilt or painted china  
that needed filling. The girls seperated into twos and  
threes and set to work.   
  
Lusey found herself partnered with one of the  
strange dark girls. Her name was Sorcha. "You're not a  
Ranger?" she ventured cautiously as they entered a  
small parlor with wide windows looking out on the  
canal and painted walls.  
  
"Well I don't ride on errantry of course -" the  
other girl began, then "Oh! you mean I am not  
Dunedain. That is so, my people come from the  
highlands of the far north in the shadow of the Great  
Mountains."  
  
"But-but that's where the Witch folk live!" Lusey  
blushed as the other girl looked at her. "Or so our  
stories say." she finished lamely.  
  
"Your stories are right." Sorcha answered, a little  
grimly. "The Witch folk of Angmar are close kin to  
mine. But *my* ancestors fought on the side of the  
Elves and the Edain in the ancient wars, while  
*theirs* served Morgoth - the first Dark Lord.  
  
"When the Kings returned to Middle Earth we  
remembered our old alliance and befriended them - and  
the Men of Angmar remembered their old enmity and  
assailed us both."  
  
"So you're Kings' Folk too." Lusey said, very much  
relieved.  
  
"Just like you." Sorcha agreed.  
  
Lusey finished arranging the flowers in a china  
bowl and put it back on the deep window sill. "Do you  
live here?"  
  
"Oh no, we are just visiting - like you." Sorcha  
added a few snowdrops to a gold figured bowl and  
considered the effect a moment before explaining:  
"Emelin and Luithlin are in the service of the Lady  
Ellian. Moredhel, my sister Keina and I serve the Lady  
Aranel."  
  
"I know Aranel, but who's this Lady Ellian? No  
offense meant," she added hastily, "I'm just a little  
confused."  
  
Sorcha gave her a kind, if slightly patronizing,  
smile. "Lady Ellian is the King's aunt and guards the  
Evendim hills in the absence of her mother, the Lady  
Ellemir."  
  
"I know her too, we used to call her Nightcrow -"  
the other girl's eyebrows lifted. "Well she wouldn't  
tell us her real name." Lusey said defensively. Then,  
trying to sort it all out: "she's the King's  
grandmother and Gil and Aranel's too...so Lady Ellian  
is their mother?"  
  
Sorcha shook her head. "Aunt." hesitated a moment,  
saw the Bree girl's eyes were fixed attentively upon  
her and continued: "The Lady Ellemir and Arador  
Dunadan had three children. Their elder son was  
Arathorn, the King's father, but he is dead and so is  
his wife, the Lady Gilraen."  
  
Lusey nodded, rapt. Genealogical lore was bread and  
butter to her and she was well accustomed to tracing  
out the complex rammifications of the Butterburs and  
other Breelanders.  
  
"Captain Gilvagor and our Lady Aranel are the  
children of Ellemir and Arador's younger son, Armegil,  
who was slain many years ago along with his wife and  
many other folk when Arnost was burned."  
  
"So Nightcrow lost both her sons," Lusey said  
slowly. "That's sad."  
  
"It is." Sorcha agreed. "The Lady Ellian is now her  
only living child."  
  
"Where does Longbow, I mean Belegon, fit in?" Lusey  
wanted to know. "I remember Beomann saying he was  
related to the King too."  
  
"Captain Belegon is Lady Ellian's grandson."   
  
"Grandson!" Lusey's eyes opened wide. "Why she must  
be terribly old then! And Nightcrow - I mean Lady  
Ellemir - even older!"  
  
Sorcha smiled wryly over. "Ellian is one hundred  
and thirty-eight, and my Lady her mother one hundred  
and eighty-eight. Old even by the measure of the  
Dunedain."  
  
"Oh my!" Lusey got her breath back. "Why they must  
have dozens of grandchildren and great grandchildren  
between them!"  
  
"Not dozens." Sorcha said, rather sadly. "The  
Dunedain have fewer children than your kind or mine,  
and marry very late by our measure."   
  
"Ellian had but two children before her husband was  
slain by Trolls. The elder, her son Belecthor, was  
Belegon's father but he fell in the War of the Ring.  
  
"He had also a daughter, Angwen, who is Warden of  
the South Downs since her husband also fell and her  
son is not yet of age. She has four children, and  
Captain Belegon three - so far."  
  
"And then there is the Lady Beruthiel, Ellian's  
daughter. Her husband died many years ago but she also  
has three children; twin sons and a daughter recently  
wed."  
  
"So many widows!" Lusey said, hushed.  
  
"Yes," Sorcha agreed soberly, "many widows, and many  
orphans." then put back her shoulders and smiled  
determinedly. "But no more. We have a king again and  
there will be peace in the realm once more." her smile  
took on a wry cast. "Eventually.  
**********  
  
1. Lusey has in fact chosen the chief state bedroom of  
their suite, her parents and the others prefering the  
smaller, less ornate chambers meant for junior family  
members and attendants.  
  
2. Green is Ellian's color, and the brooch is engraved  
with her cipher as a badge.  
  
3. Grey is Aranel's color, and the bird bearing a star  
her device, a reference to her foremother Elwing 


	5. The King's Ships Arrive, and a Conversat...

The North Kingdom was remembered in the histories  
of Gondor as a poor and precarious realm which had  
declined rapidly after Elendil's death. Its Dunedain  
population steadily dwindling as they were assailed by  
Wild Men, and fragmented into minor princedoms   
decimating each other in endless dynastic quarrels.  
Until finally the last, sad remnant was all but  
anihilated by Angmar nearly a thousand years before.  
  
The few surviving Dunedain in the North were said  
to be a rustic folk. Brave and hardy but primitive,  
living after the fashion of the Fathers of Men before  
the Eldar taught them wisdom, forgetful of their high  
heritage.  
  
King Elessar and his Rangers had given lie to the  
latter tale at least. Soon the Gondorim who had  
accompanied him north would have a chance to judge for  
themselves the accuracy of the rest.  
***  
  
There were nine ships in the King's flotilla. The  
first carried the King's Grace, his Queen and their  
little daughter, also their Royal Guard and a numerous  
retinue of attendants, although modest compared to the  
state kept by the Ship-Kings of Old.  
  
Three vessels carried skilled artisans; builders,  
stone masons and the like recruited to help rebuild  
the fallen fortress cities of the north. Together with  
their wives, children, apprentices and servants.  
  
And the remaining five ships carried each a  
company of soldiers, four hundred strong, to assist  
the Rangers of the North in clearing the Lost Kingdom  
of enemies and establishing its borders.  
  
Hirgon of Minas Tirith, captain of the second  
company, stood at the rail of his ship along with most  
of his Men watching the green coast of the gulf of  
Lune glide past. Two dots of white, twinkling like  
stars against the misty green caught his eye. He  
continued to watch them and as the ships drew nearer  
they slowly resolved into colossal figures carved of  
shining stone. Statues of Kings, like those that  
guarded the Argonath, their crowned helms overlaid  
with mithril and gold that glittered in the sun, as  
did the star and mountain of the Kings of Numenor  
emblazoned upon their shields.  
  
The colossi stood on either side of the opening to  
a wide channel leading inland. The King's ship turned  
into it, and one by one its consorts followed.   
  
"Who are they?" Hirgon's old sergeant asked,  
staring up in awe as they passed beneath the colossi's  
shadow, "Elendil and Isildur?"  
  
"No." the captain answered, voice muted with  
wonder. "These must be Tar-Minastir and Tar-Ciryatan.  
The Kings who built the first permanent havens for the  
Men of Westerness in Middle Earth. And this must be  
the canal leading to Ost-en-Dunhirion."  
  
"But surely that city and its harbors would have  
long since fallen into ruin!" his young kinsman,  
Angrod, one of his lieutenants protested.  
  
"Apparently not." said Hirgon.  
  
Behind the Kings the canal widened into a great  
pool, almost a lake, with three tall columns of  
weathered stone at its center. Two greenish blue and  
one, somewhat higher, of greenish grey. All the Men  
recognized this at once as a fane dedicated to the  
Lords of the Sea, for the like stood in the harbor at  
Pelargir, and touched brow, lips and heart in reverent  
salute as their ship rowed past.  
  
The channel was wide enough for two great galleys  
to pass abreast, oars fully extended. And its green  
banks were lined with pillared and towered villas  
surrounded by orchards, gardens and parklands. Hirgon  
could see tall Men and fair Women walking their  
grounds, and the occasional horseman or carriage on  
the road behind. It seemed a strangely civilized and  
peaceful landscape to find in a long fallen realm. One  
that could scare be equalled anywhere in Gondor.  
  
Suddenly his sergeant clutched at his arm.  
"Captain, look there!"   
  
The white battlemented walls of a city rose before  
their ship's prow, pierced by many gates standing open  
to a steady traffic of Men and animals, carts and  
carriages. But the canal entered the city beneath a  
great stone arch framed by two trees carved in high  
relief and with the mountain and star emblazoned in  
gold and silver upon the high keystone.   
  
They passed beneath it, the splash of oars echoing  
off the stone walls of the short tunnel, to emerge  
into a bustling harbor that put poor, half ruined  
Pelargir to shame.  
  
The canal curved away, north and south, its outer  
shore lined by white stone warves with tiers of  
warehouses, counting houses, sailors' inns, ships  
chandlers and the like rising above them to the city  
walls. The inner bank was thick with the rich houses  
of merchant lords and shipmasters some extending on  
piers over the water, each with its quay, and flights  
of water steps running up into the city between them.  
  
The King's ship had turned northward, the rest of  
the flotilla following in its wake, manuevering with  
care between grey ships of all sizes, and numerous  
small boats darting between the two shores. Soaring  
bridges, high enough for ships in full sail to pass  
beneath them, spanned the distance from the gates in  
the outer wall to the inner shore.  
  
Ships and bridges, warves and streets were all  
thronged with Men whose height and coloring proclaimed  
them to be of the pure blood of Westerness in far  
greater numbers than their kin from the south had  
expected, or indeed ever seen gathered together  
before.  
  
Hirgon, his sergeant and Angrod exchanged  
bewildered looks. "Forgive me, my lords both, but this  
looks like no lost nor fallen kingdom to me!" said the  
sergeant.  
  
"Nor to me either." Angrod agreed. "Far from  
needing our aid it seems they could have spared far  
more to us than a mere thirty knights."   
  
"And King Elessar himself." Hirgon reminded them.  
But he was troubled too. Why had so little aid come  
from the North? Was the memory of their wrongs at the  
hands of Meneldil and Mardil so bitter as to shut the  
hearts of all but the most magnaminous of the Northern  
Dunedain to the need their kin? And if so - what kind  
of welcome could he and his Men expect?   
***  
  
The young folk of Bree and their Ranger hosts sat  
on the green bank of the canal behind the Breelanders'  
guest house, eating bread and cheese and fruit,  
feeding crumbs to the swans and getting better  
acquainted.  
  
"So many Rangers!" May exclaimed, looking at the  
people passing over a nearby bridge.  
  
"A lot more than we realized," her brother agreed,  
"but many of the people here in Annuminas are Dunedain  
from Lindon, the Elvish country over the Blue  
Mountains." she looked her puzzlement and he  
explained. "You remember how we always thought the  
King's Folk had either died or gone to live with the  
Elves? Well we weren't altogether wrong. A lot of  
them, having no homes to go back to after the last  
war, did settle in the High Elven kingdom of Lindon  
and have been there ever since."  
  
"But have always considered themselves exiles and  
guests and are very glad to be able to come home at  
last." said the fair haired Ranger girl, Emelin.  
  
"Only Lindon belongs to us now too." said Beomann.  
"The last Prince turned the whole country over to the  
Dunedain, lock, stock and barrel!" grinned. "You  
should have seen Gil's face."  
  
Lusey blinked. "You mean the Elves *gave* their  
kingdom to the Rangers! But why?"  
  
"Because most of them have sailed west to the  
Bright Land," her brother answered, "including all  
their royalty. But *our* royalty - Strider, Gil and  
the rest - are descended from the great Elven Kings of  
Old and so are their natural heirs now all the full  
blooded Elves are gone."  
  
"Not to mention the fact that there are now far  
more Dunedain in both Lindons than Elves and it is  
they who've defended the coast and Havens all these  
long years as the Elves couldn't be troubled to!"  
Sorcha's brother Conegund, a handsome swarthy skinned  
young Man with a burning eye, put in acidly.  
  
Beomann's Ranger friend Dan shook his head. "You're  
too hard on them Con." to the Bree girls. "Elves, or  
rather the High Elves of the West, make poor warriors.  
It's not that they're cowards but they instinctively  
shun strife, hiding behind walls of spells -"  
  
"Or the arms of Men." said Conegund.  
  
"That too." Dan agreed calmly. "The work has to be  
done, better it be done well by those best suited to  
it than poorly by those who are not." glanced sidelong  
at the Easterling. "Look what a mess the Noldor made  
of the Old Wars."   
  
"And remember who paid the price of their folly."  
Con retorted. "The problem with the Dunedain," he  
continued to the girls, "is they're far to generous  
*and* soft hearted for their own good. It's a wonder  
they've managed to survive as long as they have."  
  
"But..but they have their magic." Lusey ventured.  
  
"True." the Easterling conceeded. "And their long  
lives and all kinds of arts and knowledge we have not.  
Yet for all that don't you start thinking your folk or  
ours are any less than the Dunedain, Miss Lusey."  
  
"Now you've done it." Beomann told his sister  
resignedly.  
  
Conegund grinned at him, and continued with the air  
of a Man mounting a favorite hobbyhorse: "Measuring  
your folk or mine by the Westerners is like measuring  
cattle against horses or sheep against cattle."  
  
"We're the horses." Dan told Emelin.  
  
"I suppose I can live with that." she said.  
  
"Strong and spirited but far too loyal and brave  
for their own good." Con agreed. "We Men of Rhudaur  
are cattle -"  
  
"You don't remind me at all of a cow." May told  
him.  
  
He grinned again. "I'm not talking about your  
little Milch cows now, Miss May, but the fierce auroch  
of the northern hills."  
  
"Nigh on twice as big and very nasty." Beomann put  
in.  
  
"And willful and hard to control." the Easterling  
added, with some satisfaction.  
  
"We're the sheep." said Beomann.  
  
"Oh, now I resent that!" May glared at Conegund.  
  
He laughed. "Miss May have you *ever* tried to make  
a sheep go where he does not want to go, or take his  
fleece from him? Meek and mild they may seem while  
grazing quietly upon the hill but they are both  
stubborn and fierce when interefered with."  
  
"Just like us Breefolk." Beomann grinned.  
  
"Exactly like." His friend agreed.  
  
"Well, I guess that's not so bad then." May  
conceeded.  
  
"Good," Con smiled at her, "I wouldn't like to have  
so pretty a lady angry with me."  
  
May blushed pink. Her brother gave Conegund a look  
of undisguised astonishment and opened his mouth to  
speak.  
  
"Beomann," Dan said warningly, "this is a good time  
to keep quiet."  
  
"Yes." May agreed with some emphasis.  
  
Beomann looked from one to the other, and very  
wisely followed their advice.  



	6. The Shire

  
As Aragorn and his retinue neared the borders of  
the Shire he saw three small figures on ponyback  
coming to meet them, one in the black and silver of a  
knight of Gondor; one in the colors of Rohan; and one  
in ordinary Hobbit clothes. Smiling he raised his hand  
for a halt, then rode forward alone to greet his  
friends.  
  
"My word, Strider," Pippin called as they came into  
earshot, "it looks like you've brought half of Minas  
Tirith with you!"  
  
The King laughed. "This is only a tithe my company,  
but I sent the others on ahead to Annuminas by the Sea  
Road."(1)  
  
"Thank goodness for small favors." Pippin  
answered." These are more than enough to go on with!"  
  
"Indeed, I have my doubts about taking even this  
many Men through the heart of the Shire." Aragorn  
admitted as the Hobbits reined in before him.  
  
"My dear Aragorn, our folk have got dinners and  
pageants planned for you and yours from Greenholm to  
Frogmorton." Merry told him. "Disappoint us and we'll  
revolt or something!"  
  
"I wouldn't care to risk that." the King conceeded  
with a smile. "It's good to see you again my friends."  
leaned down to grip first Pippin's hand, then Merry's,  
and finally -  
  
"Sam?"  
  
The remaining Ringbearer looked up at him with  
tears in his eyes. "He's gone, Strider, he's left us."  
  
"I know. I'm sorry, Sam, I did my best but -"  
  
"What are you talking about?" the Hobbit interupted  
indignantly. "Why if it weren't for you he might never  
have woken up at all!"  
  
"And if it weren't for you he would have died in  
Mordor." Aragorn pointed out gently. "We are but  
mortals, Sam. It's not our fault Frodo needed more   
than it was in our power to give."  
  
Sam sighed. "When you put it like that...but I miss  
him."  
  
"And old Gandalf too." said Pippin as sadly. "He  
didn't visit all that often, but there was always the  
chance of him dropping by for a day or two - and now  
there isn't."  
  
"Gandalf had finished the work he'd been sent to  
do." Aragorn said quietly. "Naturally he wanted to go  
home."  
  
"Just like we wanted to come back to the Shire  
after we'd done what we set out to do." Sam nodded.   
  
"Who knows," said Merry, "maybe he's got a Mrs.  
Gandalf and a whole tribe of little wizardlings  
waiting for him over sea!"  
  
Aragorn and Sam laughed. Pippin frowned. "That  
couldn't be - could it?"  
  
"Not children I think." the King answered, "But a  
wife or sweetheart is not impossible."  
  
"Speaking of sweethearts, did you know Sam here is  
married?" Merry wanted to know.  
  
"No I had not heard. Congratulations, Sam. I look  
forward to meeting the Ringbearer's lady."  
  
"He's been sweet on Rosie Cotton ever since they  
were both in their tweens." Merry explained.  
  
"And strangely enough she was sweet on him too."  
put in Pippin.  
  
"Unfortunately for her, Sam here never could scrape  
up the nerve to actually pop the question." Merry went  
on.  
  
"Until the night we all went down to the old Green  
Dragon." Pippin continued. "All of a sudden, in front  
of everybody, our Sam gets up goes over to Rosie at  
the bar, gives her a kiss and walks out the door with  
her on his arm!"  
  
Merry grinned. "Forget Cirith Ungol, forget Mount  
Doom, *that* was the bravest thing our Sam ever did."  
  
"Which is just what Mr. Frodo said." Sam admitted,  
red about the ears but grinning too. "Along with 'It's  
about time!' and 'What took you so long?'"   
  
"Hmmmm." said the King eyeing Merry and Pippin  
thoughtfully. "We'll see how forward you two are when  
you fall in love. You may get your own back yet, Sam."  
***  
  
The dignitaries of Greenholm, a village in the far  
downs on the very edge of the Shire, stood on a wooden  
platform decorated with flowers and ribbons. Three  
portly, middle-aged Gentlehobbits with a pretty little  
Hobbit girl clutching an immense bouquet beside them.  
All four looked scared to death.  
  
The Little Folk lining the sides of the road were  
equally intimidated, staring round eyed at the  
silvered armor and jewels of the Big Folk on their big  
horses and quite forgetting to wave their flags or  
cheer.  
  
This wouldn't do at all. Aragorn signalled for his  
escort to hold back, reached over to take Arwen's hand  
and they rode side by side up to the dignitaries on  
their platform.  
  
"Wu-welcome to the Shire, King Elessar." the oldest  
and fattest of them stammered. "And Queen  
Uh-Undomiel."  
  
"Thank you," Aragorn answered in his broadest  
country accent. "my wife and I are very happy to be  
here."  
  
The Hobbit blinked, startled at hearing such homely  
language from the regal figure in front of him. "As  
happy as we are to have you I hope." he answered in a  
sudden rush of fluency and confidence. "This is the  
finest thing to happen to the Shire in my time. We're  
right glad to have a King again. It'll be good to  
finally get some law and peace here in the North."   
  
"I will do my best to give satisfaction." Aragorn  
replied with a bow. "Mr. -?"  
  
"Oh, sorry sir. My name's Bolger, Fastolph Bolger  
of Greenholm.(2) And this is Mr. Harald Hornblower,  
and Mr. Rollo Faraway, all at your service, sir."  
  
"At yours and your families." Aragorn replied  
returning their bows. "And who is this young lady?"  
  
"This is our little Violet," said Mr. Hornblower.  
"Give the lady the flowers, sweetheart."  
  
The little girl came to the edge of the platform  
and held her armload out to Arwen, losing several in  
the process.   
  
"For me? Thank you, Violet, but I don't think I can  
hold so many. Why don't you take this one back, and  
this one and this one too." the Queen smiled, doing  
her best to imitate her husband's accent, as she  
quickly detached several flowers and returned the  
little posy to the child.  
  
Violet's eyes lost their glassiness and she beamed  
happily, showing the gap of a missing front tooth.  
  
The watching Hobbits, recognizing their cue,  
cheered and waved their flags with a will.  
  
Aragorn, glancing covertly around, was pleased to  
see the Little Folk now gazing at the Big with  
curiousity and delight in the unfamiliar trappings,  
their initial nervous awe quite gone. His Gondorim  
were smiling too, clearly charmed by the Hobbits, and  
as a consequence looking much less intimidating.  
  
It was eleven leagues from Greenholm to Michel  
Delving, with crowds of Hobbits at every crossroad,  
hamlet and wayside inn. The town itself was literally  
bursting at the seams with what looked to be at least  
half the population of the West Farthing come to see  
the new King and his Queen.   
  
A much larger delegation of dignitaries awaited  
them outside the Town Hole headed by the Mayor of the  
Shire, an immensely fat Hobbit named Will Whitfoot.  
Beside him was a dignified figure in a suit of  
miniature Numenorean armor ensigned with the Seven and  
One stars of the North Kingdom, with a sword at his  
side and a thin gold circlet on his head, who looked  
uncannily like an older and heavier Pippin. (3)   
  
"Welcome to the Shire, Dunadan." he said with a  
bow.  
  
Aragorn smiled. "Thank you, Perehir. It's good to  
see you again." (4)  
  
Pippin looked in astonishment from his father to  
the King. "You two know each other?"  
  
"I've ridden with the Rangers in my time," Paladin  
answered, "like all the Thains and their heirs before  
me."  
  
"I didn't know that!" his son sputtered. "Nobody  
told me!"  
  
"You weren't old enough yet to be told - or so I  
thought." to Aragorn. "I hope Peregrine gave  
satisfaction, sir."  
  
The King smiled. "He did indeed."  
  
Pippin could only goggle at them both but Merry's  
eyes narrowed. "I thought Uncle Paladin understood a  
little more than he should, and my father too!" Looked  
up at the King. "I suppose you know him as well?"  
  
"We have met." Aragorn conceeded.  
  
"You might have said so!" Merry glared up at his  
friend and King, who smiled.  
  
"Would you have believed me? You didn't believe I  
was Gandalf's friend after all."  
  
"Well yes but still..." Merry grumbled.   
  
"As I told you at the time, I wasn't about to risk  
telling you all about myself until we knew each other  
better." Aragorn reminded him. "And by that time we  
had more urgent things to talk about than my  
acquaintance with your families."  
  
"He's right you know." said Pippin. "I mean you  
can't really expect poor Strider to start going on  
about our fathers while we're dodging Crebain,  
freezing in the snow or running from Orcs now can  
you?"  
  
"I suppose not." Merry conceeded, but grudgingly.  
******************  
  
1. A road joining the three port cities of Dunhirion,  
Mithlond and Tarcillion on the Lune.  
  
2. Grandfather of Elanor Gamgee's future husband.  
Grandson and namesake of the Fastolph Bolger who  
married Pansy Baggins, Bilbo's great aunt, Frodo's  
great-great aunt.   
  
3. This is the formal regalia of the Thain, having  
been given to Marcho by Argeleb II when he was granted  
the lands of the Shire in return for his oath of  
allegiance. This is the first time it's been worn, or  
even seen outside of the Tooks' hoard, since the dark  
days of the Fell Winter when Isengrim, eldest son of  
The Old Took, donned armor and sword to lead the  
Shire-muster against the invading White Wolves. Old  
Gerontius himself wore the circlet at the subsequent  
victory banquet.   
  
4. Perehir: 'Halfling Lord'. The name, or rather  
title, by which the Thains are known to the Dunedain.  
  



	7. Tuckborough and Hobbiton

  
As the King continued his progress across the Shire  
he left the East Road at Waymeet to visit Tuckborough  
and the Great Smials of the Tooks.  
  
Pippin was hurrying down a twisty back passage of  
the Smial, on his way to the Great Door, when he  
almost ran down a cluster of visiting cousins. He  
recognized young Bandobard and Hildibard of the North  
Cleeve Tooks right off, but it took him a moment or  
two to place the fair haired girl in the gold  
'broidered bodice and full blue silk skirts.   
  
"Diamond?" he gasped. "When did you get so pretty?"  
  
She tossed her head but he could see she was  
pleased. "I don't look any different then I ever did,  
Peregrine Took."  
  
"Oh yes you do." he said with conviction. "Either  
that or I've been stone blind all my life!"  
  
"You've just never seen her in skirts and with a  
clean face before." Hildy assured him.  
  
Diamond stuck her tongue out at her brother, then  
turned back to Pippin. "You look pretty too - handsome  
I mean," she said a little shyly. "just like one of  
the King's knights."  
  
"I am a King's knight."  
  
Bandy and Hildy snorted their disbelief but Diamond  
looked at him uncertainly with big, cornflower blue  
eyes. Surely he couldn't have failed to notice those  
eyes?  
  
"Really, truly? You're not just funning me are you  
Pip?"  
  
"Really, truly. You can ask the King."  
  
And she did too, stepped right up next to her  
father, Bandomere Took, when he was presented gave old  
Strider one of her straight looks and said; "Pippin  
told me he's one of your knights, sir, is that true?"  
  
"Absolutely true." he answered promptly. "Knighted  
by my own hand on the field of battle for his  
bravery."  
  
"What's this?" Paladin gave his son a sharp glance.  
"I don't remember you mentioning that, my boy."  
  
Aragorn looked at him too, eyes twinkling. "Really,  
Sir Peregrine, modesty becomes a knight but there are  
limits."  
  
"Well...er...there was such a lot to tell, I guess  
I kind of forgot a few details." Pippin stammered.  
  
"Saving your King's life is a detail?" Strider  
asked, eyebrows rising.  
  
"Er...um..."  
  
"You must tell us all about it, sir." Paladin said  
firmly. "But not standing out here at the door."  
***  
  
The great door and the ceiling of the passage  
behind it was high enough for even the King and his  
tall knights to walk upright. It led straight into the  
hill to the Thain's Hall, a vast chamber with vaulted  
ceiling upheld by eight stout pillars carved like tree  
boles, lit by late afternoon sunlight coming in small  
round windows high above and augmented by many lamps.  
The walls were panelled with polished oak cut from  
their own forest and the long tables spread with white  
linen cloths and set with with the best gold edged  
china and all the silver plate.  
  
As a boy Pippin had thought the hall the biggest  
and grandest room in Middle Earth. And he was still  
proud of it even after seeing the splendid halls of  
Minas Tirith, Edoras, and Rivendell. It was as fair as  
any of them - in its own way - and it was theirs.   
  
They had had special chairs made for the King and  
Queen. His had a eagle carved on the back and hers a  
swan. The other Men and Women had to make do with  
benches a bit too low for their long legs, but didn't  
seem to mind.  
  
Aragorn and Lady Arwen sat in the middle of the  
upper table with Eglantine, Lady Took, on the King's  
right and the Thain on the Queen's left. Pippin  
himself was sitting next to his mother and, thanks to   
the convoluted rules of Hobbit etiquette, had Diamond  
almost exactly opposite him.   
  
"Now then," said Paladin, after everybody was  
seated and the first course served, "what's this about  
my son saving your life, Dunadan?"  
  
"It was in the final battle before the Black  
Gates." Strider began. "And for Pippin to have chosen  
to march with us was in itself an act of great courage  
for he was risking far worse than clean death in  
battle. The Enemy knew his Ring was in the hands of a  
Hobbit and by misfortune had caught a glimpse of your  
son in a magic crystal and taken him for the  
Ringbearer. His creatures were under orders to bring  
Pippin to him alive."  
  
Every Hobbit at the table shivered at the thought,  
including Pippin himself. "I was terrified." he said  
quietly. "But I wasn't risking anything you weren't  
too, Aragorn, and old Gandalf as well."  
  
"We were vastly outnumbered and soon all but  
overwhelmed." the King continued. "I was attacked by a  
Stone Troll and worsted. It had me pinned to the  
ground, its foot on my chest, when suddenly it toppled  
over dead and I saw Pippin on its back pulling his  
sword from its neck."  
  
"I remembered how Legolas killed the cave troll in  
Moria." Pippin explained. "It was all bent over you,  
Strider, I just ran up its back and stabbed my sword  
into the gap between its helmet and its armor and down  
it went. I was very surprised." at himself, but mostly  
at the Troll for dying so easily.  
  
"I owe your son my life." Aragorn told his father  
seriously. "And will not forget that debt - ever."  
Then glanced at Pippin with a glint in his eye. "Not  
that I wasn't pretty surprised myself."  
  
Pippin grinned back, mostly at the memory of the  
two of them goggling at each other over the Troll's  
body, then snuck a look across the table at Diamond.  
  
She was staring at him, those big blue eyes  
shining. His father was looking at him too through  
tears of pride. Pippin's own eyes went hastily to his  
plate. His face was burning but he'd never felt  
happier in his life.  
***  
  
Mrs. Rose Gamgee of Bag End was an important lady  
in Hobbiton, mistress of the Hall and wife to the  
biggest land owner around. But even after nearly a  
year of it, she wasn't quite comfortable with her new  
status and at this moment especially found herself  
desperately wishing she were still no more than Farmer  
Cotton's girl.  
  
"Don't look so worried sweetheart," Sam murmured  
out of the corner of his mouth. "you'll like old  
Strider."  
  
"The King you mean." she answered a little edgily.  
  
"He is the King." Sam agreed, looked at her  
seriously with those steady hazel eyes. "But he's also  
my friend."  
  
She tried to smile. "Then I'm sure to like him."  
  
He returned her smile and went back to watching the  
Bywater road.  
  
They were standing in the market square in front of  
the Green Dragon with her parents and Sam's old Gaffer  
behind them and the rest of Hobbiton and folk from the  
surrounding countryside crowded round the edges of the  
square or up on the turf roofs of the inn and shops,  
all eyes eagerly fixed on the road.  
  
There was a murmur of awe and excitement as they  
finally caught sight of the King's company riding  
towards them. Rosie's throat closed. Big Folk on even  
bigger horses and all glittering with armor, jewels  
and whatnot - oh dear!  
  
They reined in at the edge of the square and a very  
tall Man in a great white cloak with a jewel  
glittering like a star upon his brow dismounted and  
came towards them on foot, followed by a very  
beautiful lady all in pale green like springtime.  
  
"So this is Hobbiton." the King said, smiling down  
at Sam. It must be a remarkable place to have produced  
three such heroes."  
  
"Two heroes anyway," Sam corrected, "and a whole  
lot of ordinary folk too."   
  
She looked at him in astonishment. There he stood,  
her shy, diffident Samwise, smiling easily up at this  
great Man like he were no more than her brother Tom or  
his cousin Hal - just another friend. Then Sam turned  
to her. "This is my Rosie."  
  
And the King knelt down in front of her and took  
her by the hand. "I'm very glad to meet you, Mrs.  
Gamgee."  
  
She looked into a pair of wide grey-blue eyes that  
reminded her suddenly and sharply of Mr. Frodo's. Sad  
eyes that had seen far to much of things nobody should  
have to look at, wise eyes, and very kind. Her fear  
vanished, she could no more be afraid of this Man than  
she had been of Mr. Frodo, for all his strangness.  
"I'm very glad to meet you too, sir. Sam's told me so  
much about you."  
  
The King smiled at her and stood to take the lady  
in green by the hand. "And this is my wife, Arwen."  
  
Rose curtsied. "How do you do, ma'am?"  
  
"Very well thank you, Mrs. Gamgee." the Queen  
answered in a lovely, gentle voice. Smiled radiantly  
down on her. "I am enjoying our visit so much. The  
Shire is a truly beautiful country."  
  
Rosie beamed in return. "You must see our garden,  
we have the finest in all the Shire, me being married  
to the best gardener there is and all."  
  
"Rosie!" Sam nudged her, embarrassed, then looked  
back up at the King. "This is Mr. and Mrs. Cotton,  
Rosie's parents. They bowed, tonge-tied, and the King  
and Queen bowed back - imagine that!  
  
"And this is my old Gaffer - that is my father, Mr.  
Hamfast Gamgee."  
  
The King went down on his knee again, this time in  
front of the Gaffer. "I am honored to meet the father  
of so brave a hobbit."  
  
Sam's Dad's mouth worked a bit before he could make  
words come out. "Er..thank you kindly, sir. I..I can't  
say I understand exactly what my Sam's done, but Mr.  
Frodo did say he'd been a great help to him in his  
troubles and that's good enough for me."  
***  
  
The King's attendants set up a big tent with a  
black and silver banner flying over it for him, and a  
number of smaller ones for themselves in the Party  
field.  
  
"I'd put you and m'lady up in the best bedroom but  
you'd have a terrible time with the doorways and  
whatnot. Old Gandalf always did and you're both taller  
than he was - is I mean." Sam told the King as they  
sat on the green bank above the field with Merry and  
Pippin, smoking their pipes.  
  
"We've both slept much rougher than this in our  
time, Sam Gamgee." Aragorn answered. Smiled down at  
him. "But I insist on a tankard of Green Dragon beer.  
After all I've heard from these two," a nod towards  
the two young Hobbits, "I must try it for myself."  
  
"Whatever you say, Strider." Sam looked up at the  
sleander, blossom laden branches shading them. "The  
Lady's tree is doing well isn't it?"  
  
"Very well indeed." the King looked at it  
thoughtfully. "You must be a great gardener indeed  
Samwise Gamgee, Gil-Galad himself couldn't make  
Mallorn grow this far north."  
  
"It was the soil the Lady gave me along with the  
seed, I think." Sam said, embarrassed at the  
compliment.  
  
"Folk come from miles around just to admire it."  
Merry told the King. "Pippin and I like to come and  
look at it too. It reminds us of old times."  
  
"The last good time." Pippin agreed softly. "Before  
- everything."  
  
"Before we lost Boromir." said Merry, and blinked  
back tears. "It's funny, we didn't know him for very  
long - just a few months - but I still miss him. A lot  
more than I miss some I've known longer truth be  
told."  
  
"You went through much together," Aragorn told him  
gently. "and he taught you much." a gentle smile.  
"He'd be very proud of how well you learned those  
lessons."  
  
"I hope so." Merry said quietly. Beside him Pippin  
sniffled.  
  
There was a little silence. Then Sam, conscious of  
his duty as host, said with slightly forced  
cheerfulness: "What about Gimli and Legolas, have you  
any news of them, Strider?"  
  
"I've seen a great deal of both as it happens." the  
King replied. "Legolas has brought a great host of  
Elves down from Greenwood the Great to settle in  
Ithilien and help Faramir and his Rangers clear it of  
the Orcs and other evil things that survived Sauron's  
fall. And Gimli brought a company of Dwarf craftsmen  
to repair the city walls and forge for us new gates of  
mithril and steel." Aragorn glanced sidelong at his  
small friends. "And I've heard he's begun keeping  
company with a lady."  
  
All three Hobbits gaped. "A lady dwarf?" Merry  
asked after he got his voice back.  
  
"Of course. He has been talking with King Eomer  
about establishing a Dwarf settlement in the  
Glittering Caves. It seems the lady is also interested  
in the project. Whether she is interested in Gimli as  
well I am not yet sure."  
  
"My goodness." Merry shook his head. "You and Sam  
seem to have started a trend, Strider. Who will be  
next I wonder?" Fortunately nobody was looking at  
Pippin, and so didn't see him blush.  
***   
  
Meanwhile, on the other side of the hedge, Rose  
Gamgee sat on a little patch of lawn surrounded by  
flower beds, watching baby Elanor pull daisies apart  
and having a nice gossip with the Queen of the West.  
  
"Are you coming to Annuminas with Sam, Rosie?"  
Arwen asked.  
  
"Well, I'd like too but I don't want to leave our  
Ellie for so long."  
  
"Bring her along." the Queen suggested. "It'll be  
an easy journey, and she'd be company for my Aredhel."  
  
"Oh," Rosie looked at her in surprise. "you have a  
little girl too?"  
  
Arwen nodded, "Almost exactly the same age as your  
Little Flower. We brought her north with us but I  
thought the crowds and excitement would be to much for  
her and so sent her on to Annuminas with the rest of  
our people."  
  
Rosie nodded her understanding. "Well I won't say  
I"m not tempted, ma'am. Truth to tell I'm a little  
nervous about letting Sam out of my sight, afraid  
he'll go off on some other mad adventure if I'm not  
there to remind him of his responsibilities."  
  
The Queen smiled. "I don't think that's likely,  
Rosie."  
  
"Well no, not really but I do worry about Sam  
sometimes."   
  
Arwen stopped looking at the baby and turned those  
deep blue eyes on the mother with such a concerned  
look on her face that Rosie was encouraged to  
continue.  
  
"The Gaffer may not know what Sam did, but I do.  
Sam told me some of it, and Mr. Frodo a lot more. He -  
he was afraid Sam might have the same trouble he did  
someday. He said if I was ever worried I should go to  
you and the King, you'd be able to help."  
  
"Sam seemed quite himself to me," the Queen said  
with a little frown. "Has he been troubled or  
depressed lately?"  
  
"Oh no, nothing like that." Rosie assured her  
hastily. "He has nightmares from time to time but I'd  
call that natural enough considering what he's seen."  
Arwen nodded agreement. "If anything's worrying him  
it's me. He sees me watching him, and of course he  
doesn't like it, but I can't seem to help myself." bit  
her lip. "I don't want him to have to sail away like  
poor Mr. Frodo."  
  
"I don't think that's at all likely, Rosie, not as  
long as he has you and this Little Flower here." the  
Queen said firmly. Hesitated, then went on. "I'm sure  
Frodo didn't mean to worry you, but Sam was a  
Ringbearer too - though only for a short time. And  
though he didn't take the harm Frodo and Bilbo did, he  
did not escape unscathed."   
  
"But what does that mean?" Rosie demanded, suddenly  
on the verge of tears. "How is he hurt?"  
  
"In the spirit." Arwen answered gently. "Not so  
gravely that he cannot love and be happy here in  
Middle Earth, he scarcely feels it now. But when he is  
old, if he should be left alone.." she hesitated  
looking for words.  
  
"You mean if he should outlive me." Rosie said  
matter-of-factly.  
  
The Queen smiled, a little ruefully, at the  
Hobbit's bluntness. "Yes. Then he might begin to feel  
the hurt and need help. And he will have it, I promise  
you, even to sailing into the West as Frodo and Bilbo  
did."  
  
Rosie thought about that, nodded. "Good enough. All  
right, I'll try not to worry any more. Thank you,  
ma'am."  
  
"You are very welcome, Rosie." 


	8. On The West Road To Annuminas

  
Unlike Ost-en-Dunhirion the equally ancient city of  
Tarkilion on the upper Lhun was in ruins, very like  
Gondor's own ancient capital of Osgiliath. Tarkilion  
too had been walless and built on both sides of a  
river - the Eithel Uial, a tributary of the Lhun  
running down from the Evendim Hills rising high and  
rugged to the east.   
  
But unlike poor, dead Osgiliath the northern city  
was green with growing things; trees, climbing vines  
and a riot of flowers. When they stopped to make camp  
those court ladies and waiting gentlewomen who hadn't  
accompanied the Queen used the last hours of sunlight  
to pick flowers in the ruins, coming back with baskets  
full of roses, lilies, snowdrops and other garden  
favorites run wild, and even some Elven flowers;  
elanor, niphredil and lissuin.  
  
"Every house seems to have had its own garden."  
Edhellos, Angrod's sister, told him as she sat between  
her brother and Hirgon by the fire in front of the  
Captain's tent after the evening meal. "And there were  
parks and orchards too, right in the middle of the  
city. Lady Telperien says the Arnorim always built  
their cities so - they'd picked up the practice from  
the Elves."  
  
"Along with their fondness for fountains and  
channels of water." Hirgon agreed, thinking of Minas  
Tirith with its few, small, high walled gardens in the  
sixth circle and the citadel.   
  
Edhellos frowned. "What we really didn't understand  
was why Tarkilion was ruined while Dunhirion and  
Annuminas are whole. When we asked the Lady she said  
all their cities had been abandoned after the last  
Witch War but the Elves of the Havens and of the Lake  
had cared for those two while the others were left  
prey to time and pillagers."  
  
"But why abandon their cities?" her brother wanted  
to know.  
  
"We asked her that too." Edhellos swallowed,  
suddenly uncomfortable. "She just smiled, the way they  
do, and said it was safer so."   
  
Both young men knew what smile she meant. A small,  
grim, wintery curve of the lips seemingly common to  
all the Northern Dunedain - even the King - which  
tended to put a quick end to any conversation.  
  
Not, Hirgon reflected gloomily, that the King's  
Rangers were easy to talk to at any time. Silent and  
unapproachable as a Fountain Guard on duty the lot of  
them. Invariably polite, but in a distant, formal way  
that made them seem more like the Fathers of Men of  
Old than people belonging to this Age of the world.  
And with a razor edged alertness that looked  
uncomfortably like mistrust.  
  
Two score or so of them, grim and watchful and  
slightly disapproving, haunting Minas Tirith like  
ghosts of the Numenoreans of Old had been unnerving  
enough. But now here they were; surrounded by  
thousands of Northern Dunedain and every one of them  
as stern and silent as the King's Rangers - Men and  
Women both.   
  
Following King Elessar through the streets of  
Dunhirion under the eyes of an attentive but perfectly  
silent crowd was an experience Hirgon would not soon  
forget. they'd been pleased to see the King, He was  
sure of that much, for they'd looked far less grim  
than usual, and he'd even spotted a few fleeting  
smiles here and there. But they neither shouted nor  
waved, just stood there still and composed as figures  
in an ancient relief, watching. Hirgon grew less and  
less happy at the prospect of spending the next five  
or ten years among these eldritch folk the more he saw  
of them.  
  
A voice spoke quietly, just behind them. "You keep  
poor watch." almost before it had finished Hirgon and  
Angrod were on their feet swords drawn and leveled at  
the throat of the tall, hooded figure that had  
materialized out of the night. "On the other hand your  
reflexes are excellent." the figure continued,  
amusement rather than alarm in his voice. Spread his  
empty hands in sign of peace, and as they slowly  
lowered their swords, reached up to put back his hood.  
  
Hirgon and Angrod froze, as did Edhellos and the  
Men nearby, siezed by an astonishment that was not far  
from fear. Minas Tirith had once been Minas Anor, seat  
of the Young King Anarion. After his death his son  
Meneldil had filled the city with his father's image.  
Hirgon's company was made up of city men who'd grown  
up seeing that face everywhere, carved in stone or  
graven in metal, and were now confronted with it on a  
living Man.  
  
The Ranger, for so his worn green leathers  
proclaimed him to be, raised the unervingly familiar  
winged brows quizzically as his wide deep grey eyes  
touched them one by one, registering their reaction  
but clearly not understanding it. "I am Gilvagor son  
of Armegil. I apologize for my unmannerly greeting. It  
was a less than courteous welcome for guests and long  
lost kinsmen."   
  
"Not to mention that you might have gotten yourself  
run through. What were you thinking, Gil?" two more  
Rangers formed out of the shadows; one a typical  
Dunedain the other of quite a different kind. Nearly a  
head shorter than his companion and far stockier, with  
curling light brown hair and hazel eyes fixed  
reprovingly on the first Ranger.  
  
Who smiled at him with a quick, startling warmth  
that reminded the watching Gondorim of their King. "It  
was indeed foolish of me, but then I am often foolish  
as you know only too well." to Hirgon. "My companions,  
Beomann son of Barliman and Danilos son of Dirhavel.  
We have come to guide you on the road to Annuminas."  
  
"I think I could find the way." said a dry voice,  
and the Lady Telperien walked through the parting  
guardsmen, her silver grey gown glimmering, to face  
Gilvagor across the watchfire. She was a tall lady,  
taller than most Men, but not this one.  
  
He smiled at her. "Of course you could, Berya, but  
I was impatient to see my new sister and needed an  
excuse." (1)  
  
The Lady returned the smile. "Then stop annoying  
Aragorn's guardsmen and come see her."   
  
Edhellos followed Telperien and the Rangers back to  
the Royal Pavillion, puzzling over Gilvagor's words.  
Clearly he was some kin to the King but how could he  
be the little Princess' brother?  
  
Certainly they looked enough alike to be brother  
and sister, or even father and daughter. Entering the  
nursery wing of the great tent they discovered the  
little Princess Silmarien (2) sitting in the middle of  
a richly colored Numenorean carpet playing with a  
collection of carved and painted animals from the  
widely famed toy market of Dale, a present from her  
father's Dwarf companion Gimli.  
  
She promptly transfered her intent gaze from the  
toys to her visitors. Her eyes were the same deep blue  
as the Queen's but in shape and setting and the soft,  
slanting brows above them they were identical to her  
'brother's'.  
  
He knelt on the carpet before her. "Hello, Aredhel,  
I am Gilvagor." a hint of mischief entered his voice.  
"You are most welcome, sweetheart, we've had to wait a  
long time for you."  
  
"Which was her parents' fault - not hers." Lady  
Telperien observed.  
  
Her kinsman grinned up at her. "Aragorn's fault you  
mean. Arwen would have willingly wed and given us an  
heir long ago."  
  
"Gil," that was the un-Dunedain Ranger, "if  
Strider's your double first cousin, as we Breelanders  
reckon it, how can his daughter be your sister?"  
  
"Because he is my foster father as well as my  
cousin." Gilvagor explained. And Edhellos suddenly  
realized who he must be.  
  
Before the Council of Gondor had let their newly  
returned King march off to almost certain death at the  
Black Gate they had taken care to establish he had an  
heir; a near cousin, the son of Elessar's father's  
brother and of his mother's sister, and his own  
adopted son. The name of this prince, formally  
proclaimed heir at Elessar's coronation, was  
Elemmacar, which in the High Tongue had the same  
meaning as Gilvagor, 'Swordsman of the Star'. His  
unexpected likeness to Anarion was a potent, and oddly  
reassuring reminder, that the Isildurioni were  
descended from the Kings of Gondor as well as of  
Arnor.   
***   
  
It took the long train of riders, horse litters,  
and sumpter wagons a full three days to get from  
Tarkilion to the first gate. As long as it took  
Beomann to cover the distance on foot these days. Of  
course his own folk had been just as slow, but he  
hadn't expect anything else from them. But, rather  
unfairly, he kept expecting people who looked like  
Rangers to act like them too - and the Gondorim  
didn't.   
  
Not only did they crawl along at a slow walk but  
they started quite late in the mornings, took a long  
break at midday, and then insisted on stopping to set  
up camp, a prolonged process, hours before dark.  
Beomann was begining to wonder if the King might not  
beat them back to Annuminas for all he was going the  
long way round through the Shire.  
  
It was but three in the afternoon when they reached  
the first gate, at the edge of the Evendim Hills, but  
not even Beomann thought they should press on. They'd  
never make the first wayhouse before dark - and not  
even Rangers travelled by night in the Evendim Hills,  
not even on the Road.  
  
Those who weren't busy setting up camp, the ladies  
in waiting, Guards officers, craftmen's children and  
the like, slowly gathered in front of the closed gate.  
Staring up at the gigantic arch of black marble, set  
in a cleft between two hills, with the phases of the  
moon inlaid in pearl above great marble doors  
decorated with stars of adamant. Judging by the tone  
of their murmurs the Gondorim had never seen anything  
quite like them before.  
  
Recognizing the two officers who had nearly  
skewered Gil Beomann sauntered closer. "The west gates  
were made for Elendil by the Dwarves of Belegost." he  
offered. They turned to stare and he continued; "This  
is the Gate of Night, there are two others, the Gate  
of Twilight and the Gate of Sunset."  
  
"They look ominous." the younger of the two said,  
after a moment.  
  
"Don't they just." Beomann agreed ruefully. "And  
you should see the Gate of Winter on the other side -  
every bit as bad if not worse. Sometimes I think  
Elendil just didn't want company."  
  
Both Gondor Men blinked at him, as if slightly  
shocked, though Beomann couldn't think why.(3)   
  
"Er..you're not Dunedain are you?" the elder asked  
hesitantly.  
  
Beomann shook his head. "No. I'm a sheep." more  
blank looks. "Sorry, that's a joke. Not a very good  
one. Seriously I'm what we here in the North call  
'Runedain' an Eastern Edain, one who didn't go to  
Numenor. My people are descended from the Second  
House, the ones who didn't follow Haldad over the  
mountains into the lost Westlands, and maybe some who  
came back after it sank."  
  
"Oh, I see." the officer said, plainly enlightened.  
  
"We weren't too friendly to Elendil at first, not  
like the folk in the Midlands and the Down country."  
Beomann continued chattily. "Made a lot of trouble for  
him when he was building the Greenway - the  
North-South road that is. But he won us over in the  
end and we've been King's folk ever since."  
  
"Ah." then the elder officer blinked. "But wait,  
you say you are descended from the Forest folk who  
preyed on the timber cutters out of the shipyards of  
Lond Daer?"  
  
"That's us." Beomann agreed cheerfully. "You  
Numenoreans surely did give us plenty of reason to  
dislike you in those days. All thousands of years ago  
now of course, nobody can hold a grudge that long."  
  
The two Gondor Men exchanged looks. "I have heard of  
some who can." said the elder.  
*******  
  
1. Telperien is the Quenya name of Aragorn's cousin  
and foster sister Beruthiel. See 'The Last Homely  
House' and 'Rangers of the North' by this author,  
(adv.)   
  
2. 'Silmarien' is Aragorn and Arwen's daughter's  
Quenya name, under which she is formally known in  
Gondor. 'Aredhel' is her Sindarin name, used by her  
parents and other kin.  
  
3. Gondorim don't make jokes about the revered  
ancestors. That's part of their problem....   
  



	9. The Forest of Evendim

  
The Enchanted Forest began on the other side of the  
Gate of Night. The ground had been cleared for a bow's  
length, (a Numenorean bow's length) on either side of  
the road which was further protected by two rows of  
tall taniquelasse trees with silvery bark and clouds  
of large hand shaped leaves, pale green above and  
white below. Centuries of leaf-fall lay in drifts  
beneath the trees and on the white stone of the road;  
rose red, primrose, ivory and fire orange.  
  
Gil had stationed Dan and Beomann on either side of  
the gate to repeat the same warning over and over  
again to each party that passed through; "Don't leave  
the road for any reason. There are things in the wood  
left over from the Dark Years, and some from the Great  
Dark before the Sun and Moon. But don't be afraid, as  
long as you stay on the road you are safe."   
  
"But will they listen?" Beomann had wondered  
pessimistically when Gil assigned them the task.   
  
"I think so." he'd answered grimly. "They have  
spent their lives on the border of the Land of Shadow  
and know only too well the tricks and deceptions of  
the Enemy."  
  
Certainly Beomann saw no doubt or question in any  
of the Gondorim's suddenly paling faces, eyes darting  
nervously to the dark verges of the forest behind the  
protective screen of the Elven trees.  
  
They moved faster than had been their wont as well,  
and the midday break was shortened from three hours to  
one without Gil needing to ask.  
  
"Even so we will not make Annuminas before  
nightfall." he told the Captains of the Guard  
Companies as the rest of the train ate their uneasy  
meal. The Men exchanged worried glances. "But we will  
reach one of the protected wayhouses with time to  
spare," Gil continued reassuringly, added ruefully,  
"though we have a far larger company than it was built  
to hold. Still there should be room enough for the  
Women and children, and we Men will keep a careful  
watch." smiled suddenly. "We are, all of us, only too  
accustomed to bad nights in dark places."  
  
Beomann saw uneasiness give way to determined  
answering smiles from the Guardsmen and turned away to  
hide his own grin. Good old Gil. Hadn't he once  
inspired a huddle of Breelanders to stand their ground  
against Barrow Wights? Putting heart into experienced  
soldiers was child's play in comparison.  
***   
  
The big stone wayhouse had more the look of a  
fortress than an inn with its narrow, high set windows  
and corner towers. The ground for a bow's shot all  
round was enclosed by a ditch and earthen rampart with  
the dark forest trees crowded right up against them.  
  
As Prince Elemmacar had feared the house was barely  
large enough for the Women and children, even with the  
stables, storehouses, yard and enclosed garden all  
pressed into service. The animals were picketed on the  
side nearest the road with the bulk of the wayhouse  
between them and the forest and the tents of the Men  
filled the remaining ground.   
  
The Prince stationed three sentries every fifty  
feet on the rampart itself and behind it had kindled a  
ring of bonfires, also fifty feet apart each with a  
watch of twenty men around it.  
  
Siriondil, Captain of the First Company, observed  
these preparations with some alarm. "My Lord, you seem  
to expect an attack in force."  
  
"I fear it," the Prince answered grimly, "so many  
Men will be a sore temptation to the Houseless."   
  
Siriondil exchanged a stunned look with Hirgon,  
then said cautiously. "Houseless, my Lord, you mean  
the spirits of dead Elves?"  
  
The Prince nodded. "Dark souls who serve the  
Shadow. There are many of them caught in the trammels  
of the Forest. Unbodied they have little might, not  
even the power of terror that our own Dead wield, at  
least not against Men. But not all are bodiless, and  
they have their allies among the Forest's other  
prisoners, the beasts and even the trees."  
  
"That's encouraging." Hirgon muttered, a little to  
loudly.   
  
The Prince heard and gave him a smile like the  
King's in its sudden radiance. "Fear is their chief  
weapon, and a blunt one against Men who survived the  
Pelennor Field and the Black Gate."   
***  
  
It was the seventh hour of the night when a sentry  
on the rampart caught a glimpse of light moving  
through the woods. "Hist, look there!"  
  
All three Gondorim peered into the dark under the  
tangled trees. The light came closer, emerged from the  
wood and three breaths caught.  
  
A tall figure, luminous with his own light, pale  
hair shining on his shoulders, clad in glimmering  
white, stood on the far side of the ditch with a small  
band of other Elves, every one fair as the moon and  
stars on a cloudless night, at his back. Bright eyes  
looked up at the Men on the rampart as their owners  
smiled and beckoned.  
  
But these were soldiers of Gondor. Strongly as the  
desire to obey that summons was they remembered their  
orders and stood fast. The senior of them, Hirgon's  
sergeant, fumbled for the horn at his belt with leaden  
fingers.  
  
Then a black arrow clove the air beside his head  
and buried itself in the broad breast of the lead Elf.  
But instead of falling he changed suddenly, horribly;  
withering into a gangling near skeleton with dead  
white hair, clad in dirty rags.  
  
The thing uttered a shriek of rage, or  
disappointment echoed by his followers, now as  
hideously changed as he, and all turned and fled into  
the shadows under the trees.  
  
The sergeant blew his horn, then turned to see who  
had fired the arrow. The stocky, brown haired Ranger  
stood there, a second arrow nocked on his short black  
bow, eyeing the Gondor Men with approval.   
  
"Gil was right about you folk," he said, "you do  
know all the tricks."  
  
Before the sergeant could scrape up an answer to  
that Captain Hirgon had arrived, and the Northern  
Prince with him.   
  
"They just cast their lure." the Ranger reported  
crisply. "I put an arrow in one. They know they've  
been found out."  
  
Elemmacar nodded, eyes on the trees. "Call your Men  
up, Captain."  
  
The sergeant blew another call on his horn, and this  
time it was taken up by others down the rampart. A few  
moments later the Men who had been watching by the  
fire below, joined them on the flat top of the grassy  
bank and the quarter of the company who were awake  
assembled below and behind them. Torches were lit and  
hung from iron posts spaced along the rampart, dyeing  
the Gondor Men's armor and the blades of sword and  
spear red-golden.   
  
There was a breathless pause - then things came out  
of the Forest, surging across the ditch and up the  
outer slope of the rampart: small, knarled, wood  
goblins with huge, palely glowing eyes; great black  
cats, bristling and snarling; and tall, cadaverous  
undead in the decaying remains of ancient armor  
wielding jagged, broken blades.   
  
The archers had time for only one volley before the  
enemy was upon them and then it was cold steel against  
the grasping arms and gnashing teeth of the goblins,  
the swift razor sharp claws of the cats, and broken,  
time blackened swords wielded by skeletal hands. But  
swords proved of all too little use against the  
mummified flesh of the revenants.  
  
Hirgon was but one who found himself locked in  
seemingly hopeless combat against an undead foe who  
took killing wounds without a flinch. The Man gave  
ground reluctantly, trying to hew the sword arm from  
his enemy's body but his strokes blocked by a riven  
shield.  
  
Then, unexpectedly, the undead stiffened and fell  
forward, body disintigrating into dust as it hit the  
ground, and *something* fled shrieking into the night  
under the trees.   
  
At that same moment the entire enemy force,  
goblins, cats and undead, suddenly turned and fled  
leaving the Men battered and breathless, but  
victorious. And Hirgon found himself looking over the  
crumbling, empty armor of his erstwhile foe at the  
Ranger Beomann calmly resheathing his sword.  
  
"How?" He panted.  
  
"Magic." the other replied with a quick grin. Then  
more seriously. "Ranger swords are spelled to slay  
such things. I take it you don't get many undead in  
the South?"  
  
Hirgon shook his head. "Is it otherwise here in the  
North?"  
  
"Oh yes." Beomann said grimly. "What with Wights  
and Swamp Walkers and Houseless we're just crawling  
with the things."  
  
"That makes good hearing." the Gondor Man said  
drily.  
  
The Ranger's eyebrows lifted slightly. "From what I  
hear your part of the world isn't exactly clover and  
cream either."   
  
"True enough." Hirgon conceeded. But he was  
begining to wonder what sort of place this Lost Realm  
truly was with its shining white cities, and its  
ruinous ones. Its haunted forests and its silent  
guarded folk.  
  



	10. On The Baranduin

  
Rosie almost changed her mind about going to  
Annuminas when she learned the final leg of the  
journey would be by boat up the Brandywine river - and  
who was supplying the boats.  
  
"The King of the Lake? You mean the Lake in the  
Haunted Wood?" she exclaimed, memories of a hundred  
frightening fireside tales setting her heart  
a-pounding.  
  
Even Sam looked nonplussed when she turned to him  
for help. "I supose you know what you're doing,  
Strider." he said doubtfully to the King. "But the  
Forest and Lake of Evendim have an evil name in the  
Shire."  
  
"Lorien too had an evil name." Elessar reminded  
him. "The King of the Lake, Celebros, is grandson to  
Celeborn and Galadriel."  
  
"Oh!" Sam relaxed at once. "The Lady's own  
grandson? Well then he must be all right." Turned to  
Rosie. "You remember, sweetheart, I told you how kind  
Queen Galadriel was to us."  
  
She nodded, still a little dubious.  
  
The King of the Lake arrived, with his boats, at  
twilight. He was very tall with long silver hair and  
clad all in white and grey bedewed with crystal beads  
and freshwater pearls. Yet for all his eldritch looks  
he had a brisk, practical way to him that seemed  
almost Hobbit-like and put Rosie at her ease almost in  
spite of herself.  
  
"I am told Hobbits are none too fond of boats -" he  
began, then interupted himself to smile at Mr. Merry  
and the Master as they opened their mouths to object;  
"excepting of course for Bucklanders!" before  
continuing: "But I think you'll find our barges as  
steady underfoot as dry land. And far more comfortable  
than five or six days hard riding."  
  
The boats themselves proved much larger than  
Rosie'd expected, with high swan's head prows and  
stern cabins screened by silken curtains and made  
comfortable with cushions and carpets. And they were  
indeed steady underfoot as promised, not jigging or  
bobbing or cutting any of the other capers she'd heard  
tell of. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.   
  
They left from the Bridge of Stonbows just after  
first breakfast. There were six other Hobbits sharing  
a boat with herself and Sam and the baby: Mr. Pippin,  
the Took and his Lady; and Mr. Merry and the Master  
and Mistress of Buckland. There were also a score of  
fair haired Elvish rowers in silvery grey and green,  
and three pretty Elf ladies to look after the  
travellers' comfort.   
  
Rosie wasn't used to being waited on and wasn't  
quite sure she liked it. It was a bit of a nuisance to  
have to constantly ask for what she wanted instead of  
doing for herself. But Elves or no she was sure the  
serving women wouldn't appreciate her doing their work  
for them any more than she would have liked customers  
drawing their own half-pints back when she was a  
barmaid at the Green Dragon.  
  
At first she worried a little about the rowers, it  
looked like such hard work. But they didn't seem to  
find it so, singing cheerfully in their strange but  
beautiful language as they rowed. And then Rosie  
noticed that only about half of them were working at  
any one time - the others resting on their oars - and  
stopped troubling herself.  
  
Little Elanor ranged the boat at will on her  
unsteady baby feet. Rosie soon saw there was no danger  
of her falling overboard, the sides were high and  
there were always at least half a dozen sets of eyes  
on her. Elanor was fascinated by the Elves and they  
didn't seem to mind her crawling into their laps or  
tangling their long hair around her little fingers any  
more than the Big Folk had minded her getting  
underfoot on the trip to the river.  
  
Sam and Merry and Pippin sat in front of the cabin  
smoking and reminiscing about a river journey they'd  
taken during the War while the Master listened  
interestedly, the Thain dozed, and Lady Took and the  
Mistress gossiped about family matters.   
  
Rosie watched the riverbanks go by. Through the  
screen of reeds and willows to the west she saw a  
patchwork of fields and little woods, farmhouses, (no  
holes because the land near the river was low and  
marshy) the occasional hamlet and sometimes small  
groups of Hobbits come to gape at the King and his  
company. But on the east bank there was nothing but  
tall grass, scrub and stands of tangled trees, deary  
and sad.  
  
They stopped at nightfall and made camp on the  
western bank. A delegation came out from the nearby  
village of Dwaling to make the usual speeches and with  
the usual small girl to give a bouquet to the Queen.  
Afterwards the local Hobbits hovered curiously at the  
edges of the encampment watching the goings on, and no  
doubt wondering what Rosie was doing among all the  
great folk - as did she.  
  
She'd have expected the Thain and the Master to  
feel home, being pretty grand folk themselves in their  
way, but her Sam was just as easy which surprised her  
until she remembered he'd spent months living among  
Men and Elves after he and Mr. Frodo came back from  
the Dark Land. Seemed like she was the only one  
feeling like a fish out of water.   
  
They had dinner in the great tent with King Elessar  
and Queen Undomiel. The King of the Lake was the only  
non-Hobbit guest. "And how do you like boating now,  
Mistress Rose?" he asked her with a smile.  
  
"It was very pleasant." she answered politely. "But  
my little Elanor is in a fair way to be spoiled by  
your folk, m'Lord, what with the sweets and the  
baubles and being let to do exactly as she pleases."  
  
"Elves always indulge children shamelessly - as I  
know from personal experience." said King Elessar.  
"Let us hope your little flower inherits her father's  
level head."  
  
"She has his stubborness anyway." said Rosie.  
  
Sam, sputtered, nearly choking on a mouthful. "And  
what about her mother?" he demanded when he could  
talk. "It's not me who's had her own way in everything  
from the day we married!"  
  
"Which is exactly as it should be." the Queen told  
him. Then: "I hear Sam made you wait long and weary  
years for him, Rosie. Just as my husband did to me."  
  
"Well he certainly took his time about asking,"  
Rosie admitted, "and me doing everything but hang a  
sign around my neck to show I was willing!" curiously.  
"Was King Elessar as bad?"  
  
"Worse." said the Queen, with a sly, sidelong look  
at her husband. "I had to ask him. *And* he turned me  
down!"  
  
"I humbly confess to having been a sore trial to  
Arwen before our marriage." said the King with a dry,  
sideways glance of his own. "And she means to see that  
I pay for it!"  
  
"Rosie too." said Sam ruefully.  
  
"And serves you both right it does!" said his wife.  
***  
  
They were off again just after sunup. Gradually the  
fields and farmhouses on the west bank petered out,  
giving way to heathland and The Hobbits had just  
finished lunch when the boat passed a stone marking  
the northern limit of the Shire. Now they were truly  
in the Wild.  
  
The land rose steadily after that and the river  
narrowed, becoming a deep channel between high banks  
topped by stands of huge old oaks and hemlocks.  
Looking idly up at the east bank Rosie suddenly saw  
what seemed to be a tall figure, hooded and cloaked in  
green, standing among the trees, leaning forward  
slightly to look down on them.   
  
Her heart gave a little jump of surprise and she  
told herself not to be silly, it was probably just a  
trick of the light on a broken stump or some such. But  
still she strained her neck to keep it in sight as  
long as she could - but couldn't make up her mind.  
There was a jut of something dark over the figure's  
shoulder that might have been a bow, but surely a Man  
would have moved - at least turned his head!  
  
She watched the riverside carefully after that. If  
she hadn't she'd never have seen the Woman. this time  
she was certain it was no trick of the light or odd  
shaped stump. She could see the delicate pale oval of  
the Woman's face and the flutter of her long dark  
hair. She too wore a green cloak, a white hand holding  
it at her throat.  
  
"Sam." she tugged at his sleeve. "Sam, I just saw a  
Woman on the bank watching us go by, and before that I  
think I saw a Man."  
  
Her husband didn't seem surprised. "Rangers most  
likely. Strider's folk, the people of the Old Kings.  
They live in the Wild."  
  
She blinked. "They do? I didn't know that."  
  
"You weren't meant to." said the Thain. "They've  
been in hiding ever since the end the the Witch Wars."  
  
"But that's all changed now." said Mr. Pippin.  
***  
  
Just before sundown they came to a great stone  
bridge spanning the river in a single arch, lined with  
broken pillars that must have once supported a roof,  
and with crumbling towers at either end.   
  
A landing place had been cut out of the steep bank  
on the eastern side with a stone stair climbing up to  
the roofless ruin of a big stone building on the high  
ground above.  
  
There were four Men dressed in worn green leather,  
armed with swords and bows waiting for them in the  
ruin's courtyard. Men with the same dark hair and  
clear cut features as the Gondorim but a bit taller.  
In fact their leader was the tallest Man Rosie had  
ever seen, topping the King by nearly a head, taller  
even then the Elvenking.   
  
"Belegon!" Elessar exclaimed as he embraced him  
"Well met, Nephew, but what are you doing here?"  
  
"Waiting to meet your baggage train and guide them  
through the Gates." the Man replied.  
  
The King's eyes glinted. "Surely too simple a  
matter to require the personal attention of the  
Captain of the South."  
  
The Man smiled, transforming his grim, rather sad  
face. "I wanted to see you and it made a good excuse.  
We've missed you, Uncle."  
***  
  
The four Rangers joined the company in the Royal  
tent for dinner. And afterwards sat with the King, Sam  
and the other Hobbit men, smoking and talking about  
affairs here in the North.   
  
The Hobbit ladies remained inside, entertained by  
the Queen and the Elvenking. But Rosie overheard  
enough of what the men were saying to be more than a  
little disturbed. The Wild it seemed was an even more  
dangerous place than she'd been always thought.  
  
The gentlemen in attendance and the Queen's ladies  
seemed bothered by what they were hearing as well. And  
by the look of the Rangers, even by the ruin they were  
camped in.  
  
"They are seeing now at first hand what Gondor's  
stubborn pride did to their kin in the North." the  
Queen explained quietly.   
  
Mistress Esmeralda and Lady Took seemed to  
understand that but Rosie didn't. "What did they do?"  
  
"They refused to accept Aragorn's ancestor Arvedui  
as their King and so kept the Dunedain realms  
divided." Arwen answered. "Which caused Isildur's  
Heirs and their people to go into hiding, to ward off  
further attacks from the Dark Lord, and let their  
cities and monuments fall into ruin - like this  
wayhouse."   
  
"But - all that happened long ago." Rosie argued.  
"It's not fair to blame folk for what their ancestors  
did once upon a time."  
  
The Queen smiled. "I agree with you, Rosie. The  
Gondorim have suffered terribly themselves, and born  
their troubles as bravely as their kin here in the  
North. But now the Realms are reunited and a new Age  
is begun. Time for old griefs and old feuds be laid to  
rest."  
  
"I doubt it'll be that simple, Ma'am," said the  
Mistress, speaking from her own immense experience of  
family quarrels and grudges.  
  
"I fear you're right, Esmeralda." sighed the Queen.  
  



	11. The King Comes To Annuminas

  
The Gate of Twilight was much like that of night  
save that it was made of grey stone, polished to a  
silken finish, rather than black. Beyond it the forest  
changed from a threatening tangle of darksome trees  
knarled with age, smothered in underbrush and kept at  
bay by a wide sward and files of Elven trees to an  
open wood of well spaced ash, birch and beech, slim  
and wand straight, supporting a rustling canopy of  
green with little glints of golden sunlight flashing  
through, growing right up against the road.   
  
"This is the Elven wood." Beomann told Hirgon.  
Pointed to a mossy track winding away between the grey  
and white boles: "That's the path to Rhuath Uial, the  
palace of the King and Queen of the Lake."  
  
Soon after they saw the lake itself, sparkling in  
the sunlight, and the fair white villas surrounded by  
gardens and orchards, and little towns and hamlets  
built upon its shore. To their left the forest changed  
again, now to dark, well grown trees of pine and  
hemlock with the tended look of a park or hunting  
close rather than a wild wood.   
  
At nightfall they left the road to claim the  
hospitality of the two nearest villas and the little  
town in between them. The folk dwelling there seemed  
quite unperturbed at the invasion, though housing so  
many guests strained their resources to the limit,  
conducting themselves with the silent efficiency and  
intimidatingly perfect manners characteristic of the  
Northern Dunedain.   
  
The company started again at the second hour of the  
morning and by the seventh had reached the Gate of  
Sunset. It was of red stone and emblazoned with the  
sun and curling chasings like sunset clouds all in  
culurin(1) and gold. As with the two earlier gates it  
seemed to open of itself, without touch of mortal  
hands, to reveal to the dazzled Gondorim a view right  
out of a pageant of the Elder days.  
  
A splendid city stood on the shores of the Lake,  
its domes and towers sheathed in pure gold that  
glittered and flashed in the bright afternoon  
sunlight, surrounded by green townlands dotted with  
farms and and walled pleasure gardens, all cupped by  
dark wooded hills  
  
And, directly in front of them at no great distance  
from the Gate three ladies, tall and beautiful with  
dark hair streaming unbound down their backs, sat  
their grey horses in the middle of the road.   
  
She in the center wore a night blue mantle winking  
with stars over the black and silver of the Kings, and  
a star of adamant blazed upon her brow. The lady to  
her left was cloaked in dark and shining green over a  
gown of scarlet and gold and was crowned with a  
garland of golden holly leaves. And the lady on the  
right had a spotless white mantle over her glimmering  
robes of white and silver, with a circlet of mithril  
glittering upon her long black hair.   
  
The royal ladies, they could be no less, were  
attended by a bevy of women clad in white or blue or  
green and by a body of knights, some threescore  
strong, cloaked in the same colors. Their winged  
helmets like, and yet unlike, those worn by the  
Fountain Guards; more graceful in design with the  
wings set snug against the head rather than fanning  
out. Their armor glittered brightly and pennants of  
white and black flew from their spears.   
  
The cavalcade ground to a halt. Beomann looked at  
the stunned faces of Hirgon and his Men and was  
satisfied. However grand they might be down south they  
clearly had nothing to match Annuminas the Golden.  
  
Gilvagor went to greet his kinswomen. "A bit much  
wouldn't you say?" he murmured to Ellian in her starry  
cloak.  
  
"We must do honor to our new niece and credit to  
our King." his aunt replied coolly, but with a glint  
of humor in her eye.  
  
"Not to mention make up for the poor impression you  
must have given them." Aranel added drily, luminous in  
her white.  
  
"I'm not sure what kind of impression I've made."  
Gilvagor admitted ruefully. "They're too polite to  
say."  
  
"Stiff with etiquette as Barahir said." observed  
the lady in green, Aragorn's foster sister Region. "No  
doubt you've shocked them silly with your unroyal  
ways."  
  
"Very likely." he agreed. "Well come and give your  
greetings to our little princess."  
****  
  
The King's barges did not stop at sundown of their  
fourth day on the river but continued on as dusk  
deepened, the stars came out, and a thin new moon rose  
in the east. It was between dinner and suppertime by  
Rosie's stomach when their boats passed between two  
high bluffs and out onto a wide, still lake.  
  
Reflected stars danced on the dark surface of the  
water and the western shore, directly ahead, was  
jeweled with lights of silver-blue and green-gold.   
  
"Those are our dwellings," one of the Elven maids  
told the Hobbits, "the Dunedain have their city and  
townlands on the southern shore."  
  
Then they rounded the point and saw Annuminas  
glimmering white and gold, like a city of moonlight,  
against the dark hills behind. The entire lakefront  
was lit up bright as day and the marble piers crowded  
with people. Rosie saw Big Folk, both Men and Elves, a  
few Dwarves and then she saw some Little Folk and  
tugged excitedly at her husband's arm.   
  
"Look, Sam, Hobbits! but surely they can't live in  
such a place?"  
  
"Nobody lives in Annuminas anymore, though the  
Dunadan means to change that." Thain Paladin told her.  
"Those must be Hobbits from Bree or the River Villages  
come to see the King."  
  
Whoever they were it comforted Rosie to see some of  
her own kind among all these strange and grand folk  
and made her feel a little less out of place. To her  
delight their barge headed directly for the pier with  
the Hobbits. There were Men there too, but of a  
different kind than the Dunedain; not so tall and  
brown haired and homely looking in their country  
clothes.  
  
"I say, that can't be Old Butterbur can it?" Mr.  
Pippin said suddenly.  
  
"Surely not." said Mr. Merry.  
  
"It certainly looks like him." said Sam.  
  
As the Elves helped them ashore and began unloading  
their baggage a plump Man with a bald head and bushy  
side whiskers came forward to greet them. "Welcome to  
Annuminas m'Lord Thain, m'Lady Took and Master and  
Mistress Brandybuck."  
  
"I don't believe it." said Mr. Merry. "Whatever are  
you doing here, Mr. Butterbur?"  
  
"I came with a delegation of folk from Bree to see  
the King," the Man answered, "and to tell the truth I  
don't quite believe it myself." he glanced down the  
waterfront to where the King and Queen were being  
welcomed by a number of tall, grandly dressed, dark  
haired folk who looked to be kin. Shook his head a  
little, muttered "Who'd a' thought?" under his breath  
then turned briskly businesslike. "You're to stop with  
us, Little Masters and Mistresses, we've got a nice  
Hobbit-sized cottage at the bottom of our garden all  
fixed up for you."  
****  
  
Aragorn had never in his life seen all his kin  
gathered together in one place, nor was he seeing it  
now - not quite. Belegon and the twins Ellenion and  
Ereinion were missing but everybody else from Aunt  
Ellian to Belegon's new twins was there to welcome  
him. Including his little Aredhel, cradled in  
Beruthiel's arms and stretching out small hands to her  
parents, voicing both welcome and reproach in her  
barely intelligible baby speech.  
  
"But where is my mother?" Ellian asked.  
  
He tore his attention away from his daughter with  
an effort. "I asked Grandmother to stay in Gondor. I  
fear our enemies might try to take advantage of my  
absence. Should that happen her advice will be of  
great value to Prince Faramir."  
  
Ellian nodded, accepting his answer. And why not?  
it was true enough if not the whole truth. Telling  
that would mean going into plans and policies he knew  
would be deeply objectionable to his kin - and to his  
people in the North. He had no intention of spoiling  
his welcome and his ensceptering with anger and  
strife, there would be time enough for that  
afterwards.   
  
"Belegon and your horse train should arrive  
sometime tomorrow." Aunt Ellian was saying. "We will  
have the ceremony the day after that, unless you have  
some objection?"  
  
"None at all." Aragorn answered.  
***********  
  
1. Culurin is a red-golden alloy created in Aman by  
Feanor's father-in-law, a famous smith.  
  



	12. The King Recieves The Scepter

Annuminas was the final riddle, a city Atanatar the  
Glorious would have envied hidden in the heart of a  
Dark haunted forest, beautiful and untouched by time.  
But nobody lived there, the houses were filled with  
Dunedain, a tall swarthy Easterling folk, stocky brown  
haired 'Runedain' like the Ranger Beomann, not to  
mention Halflings, Elves and Dwarves in some numbers,  
but there were no shops, no taverns, no workshops. All  
these folk were but visitors come to see the King.  
Annuminas had been abandoned, just like ruined  
Tarcilion, but why?  
  
Hirgon was brooding over the mystery in front of a  
grand but empty guild hall when he saw the King pass  
by, with the Queen beside him and the little Princess  
in his arms but no other attendants. Scarcely able to  
believe his eyes Hirgon followed at a discreet  
distance, watching Elessar and Undomiel stop to chat  
with passers-by who seemed astonishingly unperturbed  
at having their King come among them in such an  
informal way.  
  
Hirgon remembered that Elessar had once tried  
walking though the lower circles of Minas Tirith  
during the rebuilding - to the agonized embarrassment  
and dismay of his new subjects. The Northerners  
however seemed to take it as a matter of course, and  
for the first time Hirgon understood why the King had  
done such an unaccountable thing - he had simply been  
following the practice and custom of his Northern  
realm. And it had never until that moment occured to  
Hirgon, or he suspected any other Gondorim, that the  
Northern Kings might have traditions of their own,  
very different from those of Gondor.  
  
A surprising number of his people seemed to be  
personally acquainted with the King, and all treated  
him with the same easy familiarity as his Rangers did  
back in Gondor. The Dunedain among them, and the tall  
dark Easterling folk, showed an especial delight in  
the little Princess.   
  
Once Hirgon chanced to be close enough to hear what  
a Man in Ranger leathers was saying to the King, in  
the usual low pitched voice Ranger voice, as he  
chucked Princess Silmarien under the chin.  
  
"At last someone to carry on the Line! And high  
time too, Dundadan."  
  
"So I have been told, repeatedly." the King  
answered drily.  
  
"It's not *my* fault." the Queen said primly, and  
the Man grinned at her.   
  
"No indeed, my Lady!" a sly, sidelong glance at  
Elessar. "We know very well who is to blame."   
  
The King heaved a sigh. "And I will be hearing  
about it, from my people as well as my wife and kin,  
for the rest of my life."  
  
"Even Kings must pay the price of their follies."  
the Ranger answered lightly, shocking Hirgon to the  
core, but Elessar just laughed.   
  
"I've been told that more than once as well."  
****  
  
Innocent of the ways of courts Barliman Butterbur  
saw nothing odd in the King of the West paying a call  
on his subjects, and if he was a bit nervous and  
overawed at first the feeling quickly passed.   
  
For all his grand clothes the King was still  
recognizably the Strider Barliman'd known all of his  
life - Only better humored and more approachable, as  
all the Rangers had become since the War now that they  
didn't have to worry about keeping their secrets  
anymore.  
  
After greetings and introductions the official  
delegation from Bree settled themselves on the gallery  
overlooking the canal to share a convivial pipe with  
their King who started the conversation by assuring  
them there would be no trouble at all about confirming  
their charter.  
  
"I'm fond of Bree myself," he said. "and don't want  
to see it change. Except for the better if that's  
possible."  
  
"Gandalf said you'd feel like that about it."  
Barliman remembered. "And I think I speak for us all  
when I say it's a great relief to us to have a King  
who knows our ways."  
  
Hearfelt nods of agreement all along the row of  
Breelanders.   
  
"Thank you." said the King "I hope to give  
satisfaction to all my peoples here in the North."  
  
"By the by, sir," from old Gummidge of Staddle,  
"just what is your proper name? Some say Aragorn and  
others say Elessar and I can't seem to get the right  
of it."  
  
"It's both." the King answered readily. "It's the  
custom of my family to give two names; one for  
everyday and one, in the old High Elven language, for  
best. Aragorn is the first and Elessar the second." he  
smiled at them. "I have also taken the surname  
'Telcontar' which means 'Strider' in the Elven tongue  
for myself and my House."  
  
"Oh." was all Barliman could think of to say.  
  
"I'm afraid it wasn't meant as a compliment when we  
called you that, sir." Ted Tunnelly admitted.  
  
"I know." said the King. "But I find I've become  
rather fond of the name over the years."  
  
Barliman took a deep breath. He'd said it to Gil  
and to Belegon, and he should say it to Strider - to  
King Aragorn Elessar - too. "We Breelanders are right  
sorry about the way we've acted towards you and the  
other Rangers over the years, sir. Believe me we  
wouldn't have treated you so badly had we no known the  
truth. And we hope there are hard feelings."   
  
"None at all." answered the King firmly. "We wanted  
your folk to think us rogues and vagabonds - for our  
safety, as well as yours. I won't say your scorn  
didn't sting sometimes, but we never blamed you for  
it."  
  
Which was exactly what Gil and Belegon had said. No  
doubt it was true, and made Breelanders feel a bit  
better. But it didn't change their determination to  
make up for their former bad behavior in way that they  
could.  
****  
  
There was no formal procession of recognition as  
there had been for Elessar's coronation in Minas  
Tirith. The morning of the day set for his  
ensceptering his people gathered expectantly in the  
great terraced square before the palace, and at the   
windows, balconies and even on the roofs of the  
buildings overlooking it.  
  
The delegation from Bree had a place reserved for  
them near the front where they'd have a good view of  
the proceedings and the Butterburs had just settled in  
their places when Beomann came out of the palace by a  
small side door to join them.  
  
He was almost unrecognizable in a splendid black  
surcoat embroidered with stars and a broken sword in  
silver thread over a pale grey tunic bordered with  
more embroidery in silver and black.  
  
"Is that real silk?" Peg demanded, feeling the  
sleeve.   
  
"Probably, I didn't ask." her brother answered.  
Then to his parents. "Won't be long now."  
  
A fanfare of trumpets proved him right. The great  
golden doors of the palace swung open and two files of  
guardsmen armed with spears and clad in black surcoats  
embroidered with crowns, stars and trees over silvered  
mail, trooped out to the music of invisible trumpets  
and flutes, and lined the steps down from the doors. A  
moment later another line of Men emerged, six of them  
one after the other, four in black surcoats, one in  
white and one in green, each carrying banner that  
matched the device on his coat. They descended the  
stair to stand, three to a side, at its foot.  
  
"Those are the banners of of the Royal Family."  
Beomann explained to his kin.  
  
The music swelled in a second fanfare and a tall,  
sleander lady in a wonderful gown of black and gold on  
the arm of an even taller swarthy Man in scarlet and  
black came out the door and down the steps to stand  
beneath a black banner ensigned with a golden eagle  
and silver stars.   
  
"Oh look at that *dress*!" Peg whispered excitedly.  
  
Beomann smiled at her. "You haven't seen anything  
yet."  
  
A second even taller lady, in black and green under  
a magnificent mantle of gold cloth brocaded with  
eagles and suns emerged next, between a pair of even  
taller Men, as alike as two peas, both dressed in blue  
and black all encrusted with gold. They joined the  
others under the eagle banner.  
  
"That's Lady Beruthiel, the King's cousin, and her  
children." Beomann told his family.  
  
The rest of the Royal Family followed in ones, twos  
and threes: First a pair of young girls holding hands  
and pretty as flowers in their gowns of pale green and  
white. Then two Men, not much older, in black and  
white glittering with silver embroidery. And finally a  
lady in a green and silver gown beneath a black and  
silver mantle. All took their places under a black  
banner ensigned with a small star and a large white  
flower.  
  
"That's Belegon's sister Lady Angwen and her  
family." said Beomann.  
  
Belegon himself was next, looking taller than ever  
in his long robes of green and gold and trailing black  
velvet mantle. With his golden lady all in shining  
white on his arm and his little boy, dressed like his  
father, by the hand. They went under a black banner  
with a bow and quiver and a star.  
  
A lady, not quite so tall, and all in dark green  
glittering with gold and silver and red jewels came  
out alone and took her place under the green banner  
with its white and silver tree and stars.  
  
"And that's Belegon's mother, Lady Region." said  
Beomann.  
  
Then came Aranel, who the Butterburs had known as  
Lightfoot, dazzling in a silver gown, holding her son  
by one hand and her daughter by the other, both  
dressed entirely in white. Theirs was the white banner  
with its black sword surrounded by stars.  
  
And finally her brother Gilvagor, as grand as she  
in black and grey and silver, took his place to the  
right of the steps under a black banner ensigned with  
stars and a broken sword.  
  
There was another fanfare and the King and Queen  
appeared, hand in hand. She sparkling in white robes  
covered with crystals of adamant, and he all in black  
velvet girded with silver beneath a glistening white  
mantle. Both wore a large white jewel set like a star  
upon on their brow. They descended the steps to the  
first terrace, bowed and curtseyed to the crowd, who  
bowed and curtseyed in return, then turned to face the  
still open door.   
  
Lady Ellian came out, her night blue surcoat and  
mantle powdered with glittering stars, with a collar  
of adamant stones around her neck and another upon a  
thin fillet above her her brow. On either side of her  
was a tall Elven lord, each the mirror of the other  
even to his robes of grey, violet and silver and the  
the great metal casket in his hands.  
  
"Those are the Queen's brothers, Elladan and  
Elrohir." Beomann whispered because the musicians had  
suddenly fallen silent.  
  
Ellian advanced to the edge of the uppermost step,  
opened her mouth and sang in a clear, strong silvery  
voice beautiful fluid words meaningless to the  
Butterburs yet which somehow put a picture in their  
heads of a bright fruitful island suddenly overwhelmed  
by a great, dark wave.   
  
When she ended the Dunedain and some of the Men of  
Rhudaur in the crowd sang the last line back to her in  
thunderous chorus.  
  
"That's a verse from the Atalante," Beomann  
whispered, "telling how Westerness was drowned in the  
sea."  
  
She sang again, and this time the listeners saw  
ships scudding before a terrible storm to land on a  
grey shore. Once again the last line was sung back by  
the people.  
  
"And that's about how Elendil, the first King, made  
it back to Middle Earth in his ships." whispered  
Beomann.  
  
Surprisingly, after all that singing, the Lady fell  
into plain, spoken Westron. "The generations of  
waiting are ended. The prophecy has been fulfilled.  
Come Elessar Envinyatar and recieve the scepter of  
your fathers'."  
  
The King climbed the steps and knelt at his aunt's  
feet. She turned to the Queen's brother on her right  
and took from his open casket a heavy silver rod  
tipped with the delicately wrought figure of a soaring  
gull, and put it into Elessar's hands, raised and  
kissed him and set him beside her on the top step.  
  
Then she cried out in a strong voice: "Aiya Elessar  
Telcontar Envinyatar, Arataro i Numende, Taro Arannore  
ar Ondor; Aragorn Arathornion Edhelharn, Ar-Tor i  
Annui, Aran Arnor ar Gondor; Behold Elfstone the  
Renewer, High King of the West, King of Arnor and  
Gondor!"  
  
He looked gravely down on his people and sang a  
short verse that didn't make any pictures but made the  
Butterburs feel peculiar just the same.  
  
"Out of the Great Sea to Middle Earth I am come."  
Beomann interpreted quietly. "In this place will I  
abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world!"   
  
And the people sang back the last line: "Sinome  
maruvan ar hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta!" sending  
chills down the spine.  
  
Then Elessar gave his scepter to his aunt and  
smiled down at the Queen. She mounted the steps and  
knelt before him. Turning to her other brother the  
King took a second scepter, this one twined and tipped  
with jeweled flowers, from his casket and placed it in  
his wife's hands then raised her up, kissed her and  
brought her to stand beside him.  
  
"Aiya Undomiel Perelda, Aratari Numende, Tari  
Arannore ar Ondor; Arwen Elrondien Gil-Aduial,  
Ar-Toril Annui, Ris Arnor ar Gondor; Behold Arwen  
Evenstar, High Queen of the West, Queen of Arnor and  
Gondor!"  
  
Queen Undomiel didn't sing anything, just smiled  
down on them as the people applauded her.   
  
A man in the silver armor, black cloak and  
fantastic winged helmet of the King's Gondor guard  
came out of the crowd with the little Princess in his  
arms, climbed the steps and gave her to her father.  
  
"And here is my heir," the King proclaimed,  
"Aredhel Aragornien, daughter of Elfstone and  
Evenstar!"  
  
That got cheers from the normally reticent Rangers  
and some laughter too. The Butterburs, applauding with  
the rest, wondered why.  
****  
  
At the King's coronation three years ago the  
Gondorim had been surprised but touched when he'd sung  
the words Elendil spoke after escaping the ruin of  
Numenor, taking it as an expression of homecoming by  
the long exiled King.  
  
Now Hirgon saw it had in truth been part of that  
Northern tradition none of them had ever imagined  
existed. And recognized the words true meaning and  
intent: A renunciation of the temptations of the  
Valinor and immortality and acceptance of Man's mortal  
destiny in Middle Earth. A resignation Gondor had  
never completely achieved.  
  
But all else was forgotten, drowned in dismay, when  
Elessar proclaimed his little daughter his heir. The  
Gondorim exchanged appalled looks as their Northern  
kin applauded. Much as they loved their Princess none  
of them had ever dreamed the King would regard her as  
his rightful successor!   
  
The law of Gondor forbade the accession of a ruling  
Queen. So far Elessar had always yielded to them in  
matters of law and custom, but would he this time, and  
what would happen if he didn't?  
  



	13. The Court of Annuminas

"Not only isn't Prince Elemmacar at all upset at  
being displaced in the succession he seems actually  
happy about it." Hirgon and Angrod looked their  
disbelief. "Either that or he's good enough an actor  
to fool not just me but the King." Edhellos finished  
defiantly. And that of course was impossible,  
Elessar's insight was already legendary in Gondor.  
  
"Even if Silmarien is Heir in the eyes of all the  
North, including the rightful heir male, she still  
would not be acceptable to Gondor." Hirgon worried.  
  
"We should have expected this," said Angrod,  
"didn't Elessar give Anorien and the constableship of  
the Northern Fortresses to the Lady Idril? not to  
mention seating her and the Princess of Ithilien and  
Queen Undomiel on his Council."  
  
"Clearly he has very different ideas of what is due  
the ladies than we." Hirgon agreed.  
  
"Can you blame him with with such a grandmother?"  
Edhellos demanded.  
  
Hirgon smiled wryly. "We have a strong grandmother  
too," he reminded his cousin, "but however much she  
may have run Grandfather, and still runs my father, we  
would never dream of making her steward or chancellor  
of our demesne."  
  
"Maybe Elessar is more honest than we." said  
Edhellos, then shrugged. "I think you are distressing  
yourselves over nothing. The King and Queen are like  
to have other children, including a son to displace  
Silmarien which will satisfy everyone."  
  
"If he follows the law of Tar-Aldarion." said  
Hirgon. "But what if he cleaves to the law of  
Tar-Ancalime? Then Silmarien will remain Heir in his  
eyes no matter how many sons the Queen bears."  
****  
  
As in Gondor the rest of the day, once the formal  
ceremonies were over, was given over to feasting and  
merry-making lasting far into the night. There were no  
pageants or masques such as those made by the lords  
and burgesses of Minas Tirith but there was music and  
singing, dancing and games.   
  
Elves and Dunedain performed plays of the War of  
the Elves and Numenor against Sauron, the Foundation  
of the Realms in Exile and the Last Alliance.(1) And  
after nightfall there were magnificent illuminated  
displays, most on themes the Gondorim didn't  
recognize, save for one depicting the fall of Baradur.  
  
The King's table stood not in some grand banquet  
hall but on the upper terrace of the palace square  
surrounded by a hundred or more others, enough to  
feast the entire temporary population of the city. And  
the King did not stay upon his throne at the high  
table but moved among his subjects, sitting and eating  
familiarly among them.  
  
He had done that in Minas Tirith as well, leaving  
his place at his coronation banquet to talk and drink  
with those at the lower tables. In the festive  
atmosphere it had passed as a gracious condescension  
on his part. But to him it had been no such thing,  
Hirgon now realized, just the normal courtesy of the  
North. For the first time it occured to him to wonder  
if perhaps their new King sometimes found his Southern  
subjects as unaccountable as they frequently found  
him.   
****  
  
The day after the coronation in Minas Tirith had  
been given over to a lengthy ceremony in which the  
greater and lesser Lords of Gondor paid homage to  
their new King. The Northerners however had long ago  
sworn oaths to Elessar as their Chief and had no need  
to repeat them. Instead the King and Queen appeared on  
their thrones to accept congratulations and hear  
petitions.  
  
It would have been hard to imagine anything less  
like the chill, austere grandeur of Gondor's Hall of  
the Kings than Elendil's Great Presence Chamber. It  
was round, and entered through four tall golden doors  
north, south, east and west. The walls were painted  
with landscapes of lost Numenor between gilded  
pillasters wrought in the form of mighty laurinque  
trees, their interlacing boughs of golden leaves  
framing oval windows beneath the great dome. This was  
night blue and studded with Elven crystals, flickering  
like stars, set in the constellations that had shone  
above Westerness.  
  
A dais rose in broad low steps at the center of the  
Chamber, and from it seemed to grow a giant,  
glimmering silver tree. Its fragile, rustling leaves  
filled the air with soft, chiming music. Light from  
the windows reflected off silver and gold to create a  
beautiful mingling of moon and sunlight unlike  
anything the Gondorim had ever seen before.   
  
At the foot of the Tree, facing east and shaded by  
a graceful bough, stood the silver chair of Elendil.  
Its high back was wrought in the form of the Kings'  
winged crest and set with Elendil, and the North  
Kingdom's, device of seven and one stars. A second  
chair had been placed, one step down, for the Queen.  
It too was silver and twined with jeweled flowers like  
her scepter.  
  
People entered from all sides through the open  
doors and mingled, talking quietly, as they waited.  
The sharp rap of a chamberlain's staff of office on  
the marble paved floor cast a hush over the great  
chamber and turned everybody towards the east door to  
see not the King, but the Ringbearer with his pretty  
little lady on his arm.  
****  
  
At first Rosie was so dazzled by the starry ceiling  
and great glittering tree that she barely noticed the  
people. Then she lowered her eyes and saw Big Folk,  
Elves, Dwarves and even Hobbits all bowing and  
curtseying in their direction. She looked over her  
shoulder, expecting to see the King and Queen, but no  
one was there. Looked in bewilderment at Sam and saw  
he was bright red from brow to chin and ear to ear.  
Only then did she realize all these grand folk were  
bowing to *him*.  
  
He gave her a little tug and they started across  
the floor towards the dais with its silver tree,  
people parting before them like they were royalty. It  
seemed a very long time before they reached their  
places, one step up on the central dais, just below  
the King's throne, and everybody finally straightened  
up and looked away.   
  
Rosie knew all about the quest, as she'd told the  
Queen, but she'd always thought about it in terms of  
what it had done to poor Mr. Frodo and even to Sam.  
Never until this moment had it truly come home to her  
that Mr. Frodo had saved Middle Earth. And Sam, her  
Sam, had helped him to do it. She shot an almost shy  
sideways look at her husband, whose face was gradually  
returning to its normal color, feeling a little awed  
and very proud.  
  
The chamberlain rapped the floor again and this  
time it was the King and Queen, wearing the same grand  
robes as yesterday and carrying their scepters,  
followed by members of the Royal Family. Once again  
everybody went down in bows and curtseys, except Sam.  
Rosie, standing uncertainly next to him, didn't know  
*what* to do.  
  
King Elessar came to the foot of the dais and  
looked straight at them with a glint that might have  
been laughter in his eyes.  
  
"I'm not bowing!" Sam told him.  
  
He smiled. "So I see, well done, Ringbearer." then  
*he* bowed! and Sam bowed back. Rosie hastily  
curtseyed.  
  
Elessar and his Queen climbed the steps to their  
thrones. Their long white mantles, hers glittering  
with diamonds, curled around their feet as they turned  
to face the people. And their relations took up places  
on the steps of the dais or just below it.  
  
"Welcome," said the King, his voice pitched to  
carry clearly to the farthest reaches of the Great  
Chamber. "Welcome, Men of the West and of the East,  
long sundered kin and friends of old. Welcome all to  
the Court of Annuminas." He and the Queen sat down on  
their thrones and the presentations began.  
***  
  
A Dwarf with gold threads braided into his jet  
black hair and beard and gold and silverwork  
encrusting his clothes, attended by several others  
almost as richly attired, bowed before the throne.  
  
"Hail Aragorn Edhelharn Dunadan, Friend of the  
Dwarves. It's good to see a King of Men back on the  
throne after all this time."  
  
Elessar rose to bow back. "Hail Curumaith, Lord of  
Belegost, Friend of Men."(2)   
  
Hirgon and the other Gondorim in the crowd  
exchanged startled looks. Surely Belegost, the ancient  
city of the Dwarves, had been destroyed at the end of  
the First Age in the ruin of Beleriand?  
  
"I thank you for your good wishes." the King was  
saying, "And your people for the aid they have given  
mine over the long years."  
  
"Just returning the favor." the Dwarf-Lord said,  
rather less formally, then grinned up at Elessar. "You  
folk do have rare gift for trouble!"  
  
There was a rustle of amusement among the Dunedain  
in the audience, and some rolling of eyes among the  
Men of Rhudaur.  
  
The King's eyes twinkled. "All too true. And  
fortunate we are to have such friends to help us out  
of it."  
  
The Lord of Belegost, with a final bow, gave way to  
another delegation of Dwarves. These were all red  
haired and somewhat less richly dressed, and seemed  
far less at ease.  
  
Elessar, still on his feet greeted them warmly.  
"Hail Phazgan son of Tamruzor, Lord of the Firebeards.  
Hail and most welcome. Without your aid the Southern  
March might have fallen."  
  
The Dwarf leader, bowed. "Hail Aragorn Edhelharn  
Dunadan, of the blood of Elu Thingol." he straightened  
and said awkwardly. "Three Ages of the world is long  
enough to hold a grudge - even for Dwarves."  
  
"More than enough." the King agreed. "The fault was  
upon both sides, and both paid a bitter price for it.  
It is best forgotten."  
  
"We agree." said the Dwarf. "And therefore the  
Firebeards of South Mountains offer their  
congratulations on the restoration of the North  
Kingdom and their friendship and alliance if you'll  
have it."  
  
"I will gladly, and thank you right heartily for  
it, Friend of Men." the King replied with another bow.  
  
  
His people applauded, and the Dwarves bowed back  
before melting into the crowd. Hirgon had the distinct  
impression that something momentous had just taken  
place. But he had no idea what.  
************  
  
NOTES  
  
1. Dunedain/Elven Theatre is somewhat similar to that  
of Ancient Greece. Scenery is non-existent - the stage  
is set by a narrator or chorus, a highly trained Bard,  
who also gives any necessary backstory and indicates  
the passage of time.   
  
Action takes place off-stage. Onstage the  
characters describe what they did and how they felt  
about it. The emphasis is on the beauty of the  
language. Costuming too is elaborate and exquisite.  
Music and dance are often part of the presentation.   
  
2. The 'Broadbelts' of Belegost: Unlike Nogrod  
Belegost survived the ruin of Beleriand, though not  
without damage. The Broadbelts fought in the War of  
Wrath and continued to have good relations with the  
Noldor of North Lindon afterwards. Sindarin has been  
their 'outer speech' since the First Age 'Curumaith'  
is a Sindarin name meaning 'skilled hand'.  
  
3. The Firebeards were the Dwarves of Nogrod. Though  
their city was destroyed, it stood where the gulf of  
Lune is in the Third Age, their mines and lesser  
settlements in the southern Ered Lindon survived. The  
remaining Firebeards, haunted by guilt over the ruin  
of Doriath and nursing their grudge for the massacre  
of their army at Rathloriel, kept very much to  
themselves through the Second and Third Ages. They  
carefully avoided the Sindarin Elves of Harlindon,  
ruled by a descendant of Elu Thingol, and later the  
Dunedain who were as well. However they had trading  
relations with the Runedain of Eriador, and later the  
Men of Cardolan and Rhudaur. Their outer speech is  
Westron and their names are untranslated Adunaic.  
  
During the War of the Ring Lassarion Eluchil, Lord  
of Harlindon, went to the Firebeard's city and so  
persuasively argued the folly of clinging to old  
grudges in the face of so dire a common danger that  
they agreed to march with his small force to the aid  
of the Dunedain of Cardolan.  
  
The something momentous Hirgon senses is Aragorn  
and Phazgan's finally and officially laying to rest  
the ancient feud between the Firebeards and the  
descendants of Elu Thingol. 


	14. Kin and Subjects

The King remained standing if front of his throne and the Queen rose too as the Dwarf delegation was succeeded by a tall, silver haired Elven lord with a lovely rose-gold tressed Elf-lady on his arm. Both were

clad in white beneath their long dark grey mantles glimmering with crystal stars and both crowned with diadems of interwoven leaves wrought of mithril and gold.

"Welcome Celebros, King of the the Lake, and Queen Arianlos." Elessar said formally. Then descended the steps of the dais to give the Elf-King a warm kinsman's embrace, as Undomiel embraced Queen Arianlos.

"Welcome home." said Celebros. "It's good to see lights on the southern shore again."

"There are few things sadder than an abandoned city." added his Queen.

"I agree." said Elessar.

The King and Queen of the Lake gave way to a tall golden haired Elf, dressed all in green with a chain of emeralds and pearls around his neck and a light silver circlet on his brow.

"Welcome Lassarion Eluchil, Lord of Harlindon." said Elessar, and embraced him too before then handing him over to his Queen for a similar greeting.

Lassarion's eyes twinkled as they went from one to the other. "Not just a King but a Queen and royal heir as well! And may I say it's about time?"

"Why not, everybody else has." said the King resignedly as another ripple of amusement passed over the Northern Dunedain and their allies. The Gondorim exchanged glances and wondered just what the joke was. Lassarion went to stand near the red bearded Dwarves.

Then a hush fell over the crowd as it parted to allow a small procession to approach the throne. At its head walked a tall Elf woman with a cascade of ice white hair falling past her knees over a mantle of snowy swans feathers. She wore a delicate silver crown wrought in the form of swans wings and a gown of silver cloth and was followed by twelve dark haired Elven ladies each crowned with a circlet of silver feathers and clad in a swanfeather cloak.

The lady bowed to Elessar who returned it. "Welcome, Isfin."

The Gondorim in the crowd exchanged incredulous looks: No, it couldn't be.

The white haired Elf-lady glanced at Queen Undomiel and smiled mischievously at the King. "I won't say it."

"For which I am most grateful!" Elessar replied with fervor. Once again a ripple of laughter passed over the northerners. Then he turned serious. "And also for your aid during the war, thank you, Isfin."

"You're welcome." she said. "But it was the least we could do. It was all our fault - as usual."

"I think Sauron deserves some of the discredit." Elessar said dryly.

"Perhaps a little." she conceded. Kissed the King's cheek and joined the watching crowd.

The next delegation to approach the throne was made up of Hobbits and headed by an older male who looked remarkably like Sir Peregrin, wearing a thin golden circlet and beaming all over his face.

"My lord King, the Hobbits of the Shire offer their congratulations, welcome and allegiance!"

"Thank you, Perehir." Elessar replied. "I and all the Free Peoples owe a debt that can never be repaid to the Hobbits of the Shire; to the Ringbearers Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee, to Sir Meriadoc Brandybuck Nazgul Bane and to Sir Peregrin Took Troll Bane."

The Hobbits' lord literally glowed with pride, and Hirgon remembered that not only was he Sir Peregrin's father but near kin to both Frodo and Meriadoc.

"In token of this debt," the King continued, "I give the lands between the Brandywine and the Far Downs, known as the Shire, to the Thain and his folk to hold free from tax or service until the Ending of the World."

Men, Elves and Dwarves applauded enthusiastically. When the noise subsided the Perehir bowed. "We are honored, Dunadan, but that offer of allegiance still holds. We've got a debt to repay too, you know, for the protection your folk have given ours these long years."

"I accept of course." said Elessar, eyes glinting. "I am not such a fool as to reject the alliance of so puissant a people!"

The Perehir snorted a little but seemed pleased none the less by the compliment. He and his fellows bowed again and gave way to a mixed delegation of Hobbits and short, brown haired Runedain dressed in the odd Halfling style.

The balding Man at their head bowed rather jerkily then said loudly and a little too fast: "Your Majesty, the people of the Breeland present their compliments, congratulations and fealty to the High King, and to her Majesty too, of course." He finished and heaved a huge sigh of relief at having gotten it all out.

"We thank you kindly for your good wishes, Master Butterbur." Elessar replied, and Hirgon noticed his accent had changed to match the Breelander's.

Another group of Men and Hobbits followed, representing the River Villages, whatever they were. Who gave way in turn to a delegation all of Men led by an elder with faded ginger colored hair who seemed much more at ease than either Mr. Butterbur, or the Villages' spokesman had been..

"The Men of the Angle are proud to offer their love, loyalty and service to the King." He said, firm and strong, looking Elessar straight in the eye.

"The King is proud to accept." he answered. "And to give his love, and loyalty, and protect in return for all the days of his life." then, to the Gondorim's amazement, Elessar descended the steps of the dais and took the head of the delegation into a kinsman's embrace.

The Man returned it, eyes filling with tears. "I just wish my father could have lived to see this day." he choked.

"So do I, Osbert." the King agreed sadly, kissed his cheek and let him go.

Hirgon was bewildered. Was this Runedain Man somehow kin to the King, and if so how? Certainly none of the Northerners seemed to see anything startling about the exchange. (1)

A company of tall, swarthy Easterners approached the throne, clad in barbaric finery of furs and supple dyed leathers and massive golden jewelry, their leader faced the King squarely. "My Lord, long ago a promise was made by your fathers to ours."

Elessar smiled. "I remember it well. You wish to claim it now, Borgil?"

"Seems like the right time, with the Great Enemy defeated and the Northern tribes in disarray." the Man answered confidently.

The King nodded. "I agree. We will need the shield and bulwark of Rhudaur if we are to restore the North to what it once was. But even were that not so, even if Arveleg had not given his word to Borlas, still I would gladly grant any boon the Rhudaurim asked of me in gratitude for their loyalty and service all these long years."

Borgil was clearly well pleased by Elessar's words. "Whatever else may be said of my folk we are at the least true to our salt."

"And that is no small thing." said the King.

A nervous looking Runedain abruptly detached himself from a huddle of Hobbits and his own kind, stepped up to the throne next to Borgil - then was seemingly struck speechless.

Elessar smiled encouragingly. "Yes, Will Greenroot?"

The Man turned red to the hairline but managed to stammer: "Well, Strider - I mean your Majesty! - back when Borgil's people had their kingdom, my folk had one too - but of course you know that -" he shot a pleading look, not at Prince Elemmacar but at the squire standing behind him. Beomann Butterbur came down two steps of the dais to stand next to his fellow Runedain.

"What Master Greenroot is trying to say is he and his folk humbly petition the King's Grace for the restoration of their ancient kingdom of Cardolan." the squire said firmly.

Greenroot glowed with relief, pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and mopped his forehead. "Yes, that's it exactly. Sorry, Strider, I'm not used to this sort of thing."

"Neither am I entirely." the King reassured him, and Hirgon noticed he was using the country accent again. "No need for court manners, Will, just say your piece."

"You see the thing is, Strider, we've got all sorts of new folk moving in - people from the South mostly." the Man confided. "It's not that they're not welcome you understand, but how are they to know the land belongs to us if all they see is Wild? If we have a King then we can just send them to him and he'll tell them where they can settle and where they can't with no ill feelings on either side, if you follow me."

"I do." Elessar assured him. "I think it's an excellent idea, Will." continued briskly: "I summon you both, with whatever others you see fit to bring, to attend our council tomorrow at the third hour - that's nine o'clock by your measure, Will - where we will settle all to your satisfaction."

And that, apparently, was the end of the presentations for the King came down from the dais and began talking quietly with the Easterners, Squire Beomann and Master Greenroot.

The rest of the royal family also descended to mingle with the crowd, and Elves, Men, Hobbits and Dwarves all relaxed and began to talk. The leaves of the Tree chiming musically as they moved in the tiny drafts made by the movement and voices of the people below.

1. Osbert Attmead is the son of Oswald Attmead, a childhood friend of Aragorn's, (see 'The Last Homely House' adv.). Oswald, who was the same age as Aragorn, died a few years before the WR at the age of eighty-four.


	15. The Elves of the North

Rosie was standing on the lowest step of the dais, watching the Big Folk mill about, when a familiar voice said behind her: "Rosie Cotton, whatever are you doing here?"

She turned at once, decidedly startled. What would old Malkin, the Big-Folk herbwoman, be doing here? And found herself looking at the white haired Elf queen. "Mal - kin?" the name ended with a gulp.

"That's right." the Elf said calmly in that familiar voice. Then grinned in a way that was also very familiar; "Of course you've never seen me all got up for best before."

Rosie subsided rather abruptly onto the next step up. "But - but you're an Elf, you can't be old Malkin!"

"Oh yes I am." she answered, settling comfortably on the steps next to Rosie. "Come now, don't tell me you haven't heard of the Queen of Elf-Hill and her habit of wandering in disguise?"

Well of course Rosie had, in bedtime stories when she was a little girl. She'd never been silly enough to believe them, and even if she had she certainly wouldn't have expected a queen of the Elves to get herself up as a ragged old herbwoman in order to drink tea and gossip with the goodwives of Hobbiton! Bewilderment and dismay abruptly gave way to anger. "Well that's a fine thing! Lying to us, tricking us!"

"Rosie, be reasonable, if I appeared in the Shire looking like this," the Elf spread her arms displaying feathered cloak and silver gown, "you'd all hide under your beds until I'd gone!"

That was so obviously true that Rosie had to laugh, her brief anger slipping away.

"Now then," said Malkin, "what brings you to Annuminas?"

"I came with my husband." Rosie replied, and blushed at the smile that spread over the face that was growing more and more familiar the longer she looked at it.

"So Sam popped the question at last, did he, and high time too! I'm glad to hear it, Rosie, a good wife and a family are just what he needs after all he's been through."

"That's what Mr. Frodo said." Rosie agreed. "Sam needs - not to forget exactly - but to put aside all the terrible things he'd seen and done and learn how to be happy and peaceful again. And I'm just the one to help him do it."

Malkin sighed. "It's a pity there was nobody east of the Sea who could do as much for poor Frodo. But then he had suffered even more than your Sam."

That was true. Sam hadn't wanted to see it, of course, but Rosie had soon realized that Mr. Frodo had gone too far beyond himself to ever be able to settle back into the comfortable life of the Shire. "He wasn't really a Hobbit any more." she agreed quietly.

"That's one way of putting it." said Malkin.

"Rosie?" This time it was Sam's voice, and the note of incredulity in it was perfectly understandable. He would scarcely expect to find his wife having a comfortable chat with a strange Elf.

"It's Malkin, Sam." Rosie explained, perhaps slightly incoherently. "Old Malkin the herbwoman, but she's really an Elf." turning back to the Elf-queen. "What's your right name again?"

She smiled. "Isfin. You wouldn't know it, Rosie, but I'll bet Sam does."

He certainly seemed to, his eyes had gone round as saucers. "Feanor's daughter?" (1) he asked in disbelief, then with sudden comprehension: "Of course, that's why you said the War was your fault. What's 'is name who made the Rings would have been your - your -"

"Nephew." she finished for him, sighed. "Poor, foolish Celebrimbor. You'd think the Darkening of Valinor would be enough to warn anybody against trusting strange Maiar bearing gifts, but we Feanori seem to be incorrigibly credulous."

"Not all." said a mild voice, an Elf man joined their group. He had broad shoulders and light brown hair and seemed somehow less intimidatingly grand than the other Elves Rosie had seen.

"This is my husband, Enerdhil." said Malkin, or rather Isfin. "My dear, the Ringbearer and his lady; Rose Gamgee."

The Elf bowed to them both. Rosie gave the queen a reproachful look. "Malkin said her husband was a smith."

"And so I am." Enerdhil said serenely, sitting down next to his wife.

Rosie looked puzzled. "But you're a king -"

"That I am not." he said briskly. "My Lady here lost her kingdom long before we were wed. I have never claimed to be more than the common craftsman I was born."

"A most uncommon craftsman." said Isfin.

Rosie stared at him. "I never thought of that," she said, amazed. "but of course there must be Elves who work for a living like regular folk. You can't all be kings and queens and magicians and the like."

"Any more than all Hobbits are gentlefolk and heroes." Enerdhil agreed with a smile. "But they don't sing songs about us commoners, just the kings and queens and magicians."

"I seem to recall a certain simple craftsman having a song or two to his name." Isfin said mildly. (2)

Her husband smiled at her. "Only because I went and got myself mixed up in the affairs of the Great. Not unlike you, Master Gamgee."

"Isfin," yet another new voice joined their conversation, this time it was Beomann Butterbur's, "Himself's asking for Gilfanon, do you know where he's got to?"

She shook her head. "I haven't seen him since we arrived."

"Try looking up." Enerdhil suggested gently.

Hobbits, Man and Elf-queen did so. For a moment Rosie didn't see anything but the starry ceiling and the boughs of the Tree, then she spotted a tall, white clad figure already high in the branches and climbing higher.

Beomann gaped, then gasped: "Idiot! What's he think he's doing?"

"Taking at look at the ceiling," I would guess. "Enerdhil said calmly. "It is his work you may recall, no doubt he wants to see how it's weathered the long years."

Beomann shook his head. "I just hope he doesn't break anything - off the Tree I mean."

"Don't worry, he won't." said Enerdhil.

Aragorn was standing, talking with Gilvagor, Borgil's younger son Boromir, the Dwarf-lord Curumaith, some of his fellows, and a couple of the Firebeards when Beomann rejoined them.

"I'm afraid Gilfanon is temporarily unavailable." he said dryly. The others looked at him questioningly and he added; "Look up."

All did, and laughed. "Typical." said Gilvagor, shaking his head.

"With all due respect, sir," Beomann said to Aragorn, "I am not following him up there."

"No need." the King assured him. "He's got to come down eventually - I think." and Men and Dwarves shared another chuckle.

Not far away Hirgon was being enlightened by the Lady Region, the King's foster sister. "Then it is the same Isfin as in the old stories then, the daughter of Feanor and Queen of Dor-Winnion?"

"Of course." said Region, calmly as if there were nothing at all unusual about having a First Age Noldorin Exile as a neighbor. "She's lived in East Lindon since Beleriand foundered." she looked at him questioningly. "Surely you remember her part in the Last Alliance?"

"Yes, but that was long ago."

Region nodded. "Even as the Elves measure it. The White Lady, like Elrond Half-Elven, is an old friend and ally of our people and our house. We know her well here in the North."

"We had few Elves near us in the South," Hirgon admitted, "and those we knew have long since sailed West."

"Isfin says she will never return to Aman." Region answered. "Her memories of the Blessed Land have been spoiled by the Rebellion and the Darkening and the Kinslaying. And her father and brothers are gone and will not return. I must say I'm glad of it, a world without Elves would be too sad to bear."

Hirgon, who had grown up in a world without Elves, or Dwarves, looked around him at Elves, Dwarves and three different kinds of Men - not to mention Halflings! - chatting familiarly together and shook his head in a sort of amazement . It was almost as if by sailing North they had sailed back into the Elder Days when the peoples had been near allies and the world filled with wonder.

Arwen Undomiel perched on the arm of the Silver Chair of Elendil talking to her kin; Celebros, Arianlos and Lassarion. And to Nolwen of Amon Geleidh, one of Isfin's ladies, who was sitting in the Queen's chair. (3)

"But whatever gave you the idea of approaching the Firebeards?" Arwen asked Lassarion.

He smiled ruefully. "Sheer desperation. I knew my force lacked the weight to be of real help to the Dunedain, and there are no better heavy infantrymen than Dwarves." he shrugged. "Sauron was strengthened by divisions between his enemies. It seemed to me high time to end this one. After all Thingol was as much to blame as the Dwarves for what happened."

"You believe the story the Lord of Nogrod told Beren?" Arianlos asked interestedly.

"Luthien did." Lassarion answered. "And it seems likely enough, we all know the effects of Dragon gold."

"It was not the gold," Nolwen said quietly, but with certainty. "it was the Silmaril. The Great Jewels always fired covetice in the hearts of those prone to that fault."

"How can that be?" Arwen frowned. "They were filled with the light of the Trees and hallowed by Varda herself, their influence should have been for good."

"But obviously it wasn't." Nolwen answered dryly. "First they corrupted my Lord Feanor and his sons, and later the Lord Thingol and the Dwarves of Nogrod." she raised a hand as Arianlos started to protest. "I do not say any of these were guiltless, but the Jewels spoke to their weakness and made it grow into a madness that consumed them.

"The light of the Trees was a hoarded blessing." she continued quietly. "When the Valar chose to keep it selfishly for themselves rather than sharing it with Middle-Earth they tainted it with the sin of covetice. And from that came all of the mischief."

"But the Silmaril didn't corrupt everyone who held it." Arwen protested.

Nolwen smiled. "Beren had only one treasure, there was no room in his heart for another. For him and for Luthien, the Silmaril was naught but a beautiful bauble. For Dior it was the memory of his parents and a sacred trust. And for Elwing too it was a trust to be guarded and given up to the one for whom it was meant. They had no covetice in their hearts and so the taint of it on the Jewel did not affect them."

"The Doriathrim and the Nogrodrim had been friends for years uncounted," Lassarion said quietly, "I cannot believe they would have fallen out so merely of their own will. Dragon gold or Silmaril some outside power moved them to that final quarrel, of that much I am sure. And that being so to continue to blame the Firebeards and the Firebeards alone for the bitter end of our friendship is clearly unjust." he shrugged again. "Besides it was all a very long time ago."

Nolwen laughed. "That's the Man in you." she told him. "They are more forgiving than either our people or the Dwarves, or maybe just more forgetful."

"Not all." said Arwen dryly.

"The Dunedain are too long lived." said Nolwen. "Long life means long memory. I remember Urin saying that though he himself had reason to be grateful for it, the greater span granted to the descendants of the Elf Friends was a mistaken gift. As usual he was right." (4)

"I have heard many Dunedain say the same." Arwen admitted. She turned to Arianlos. "What of your uncle?" she asked, unconsciously lowering her voice. "Did he sail with my father?" (5)

Feanor's granddaughter smiled faintly. "Of course not," she answered just as quietly. "though both Elrond and Gandalf tried to persuade him."

"And Mother and me, and the rest of her children as well." said Arianlos' brother Gilfanon joining their circle.

"And you were not tempted?" Arwen asked.

He stared at her with exagerated dismay. "Have you gone daft, cousin? Me, in a timeless, changeless land with no one to talk to but Elves, and High Elves at that!" he shuddered histrionically. "I'd be madder than my grandfather in a century."

"You are madder than your grandfather." said Celebros.

"Yes, but in a much more entertaining way." his brother by marriage replied, then continued more seriously: "I don't know if it was Gandalf's own idea or the Valar's but both should have known better. Feanori do not belong in Aman, you'd think the Rebellion would have taught them as much."

"I certainly would." Nolwen agreed.

"By the way," said Celebros, "Aragorn was asking for you earlier, Brother."

"Was he? I'd better see what the King wants, I do hope it's something interesting."

"I think you will find it so." said Arwen.

"How is the ceiling?" Aragorn asked politely. The Dwarf lords and Boromir had been called away by Borgil of the Rhudarim, leaving only Gilvagor and Beomann with the King.

"Sound enough for the most part," Gilfanon answered, "but Alcarinque is a little loose in its setting, I'll see to it later." He smiled. "We can't have stars falling on the heads of the King's courtiers now can we?"

"Certainly not." Aragorn agreed. "Gilfanon, we are ready to begin the work of rebuilding the old fortress cities; as you had a hand in the building of Fornost I assumed you would be interested in helping to restore her."

The Elf's face brightened. "Very much so!" then he frowned. "You don't mind a few changes I hope, I have some ideas."

"Not within reason." said the King.

Gilfanon's eyebrows went up. "And what is that supposed to mean."

"It means," Gilvagor answered, "that he wants the City finished in this Age of the World - so none of your tricks!"

"And just what do you mean by that?" the Elf demanded.

"I think he's probably talking about the way you tore down Minas Sul three times, secretly at night, during its building." Beomann said helpfully.

"I never did!" Gilfanon said indignantly, then added: "Besides I'd had a better idea, and anyway it was only twice. Elendil always did exagerate."

"Watch him." said Aragorn to Gilvagor.

"I will." his cousin answered fervently.

1. Isfin, daughter of Feanor, is of course totally AU. She is mentioned in an unfinished story called 'A Maid of Elven Tirion' which so far has only one chapter. Her kingdom of Dor-Winnion was in eastern Beleriand and took its name; Land of the Maidens, from Isfin herself and her twelve maiden attendants, (the same twelve who accompany her now). She befriended the Edain and those who lingered in Estolad were her vassals. She also tried to restrain her brothers, with little success. After the youngest, Amras, who she had done her best to protect from the Doom was slain by his own brothers' men as he helped defend the Havens of Sirion Isfin washed her hands of Maedhros and Maglor, now the only survivors and passed over the Blue Mountains into Eriador, settling on an outlying hill, now known as Amon Geleidh, Hill of the Noldor, or simply Elf-Hill, where she still lives with the surviving Feanorians.

2. Enerdhil, Isfin's husband, takes his name from the maker of the Elfstone, (in one of Tolkien's versions) but is also AU. He was chief artificer of Gondolin and led the House of the Hammer. The songs Isfin mentions are about his great feat of slaying a Balrog during the final defense of Gondolin. Readers of the Lost Tales will recognize elements of the story of 'Rog' head of the House of the Hammer of Wrath, in this. Unlike that tale Enerdhil and some of his craftsmen manage to survive the battle and escape with the other refugees down Idril's secret way.

3. Celebros is the son of Elured, the elder of Elwing's twin brothers, and Lassarion the great grandson of Elurin who was the younger. Like Arwen both count as Half-Elven. Unlike her they have not been offered the Choice which is unique to the heirs of Earendil and Elwing. However because of their high percentage of Elven blood they can basically live as long as they choose, until the weariness of the world becomes to much for them - as has happened to Lassarion's mother and grandparents. Elured endured the long years for the sake of his wife Lorellin but was slain in the WR and his soul has presumably passed beyond the Circles of the World.

Arianlos is the eldest of the four daughters of Isfin, and so sister-daughter to the Sons of Feanor. You can imagine how thrilled Elured and Celeborn were with Celebros's choice of wife! ;-) but then falling in love with controversial spouses seems to run on both sides of the family!

Nolwen is a much older and far wiser Davne from 'A Maid of Elven Tirion' and one of Isfin's twelve companions. Her contention that the light of the Silmarils was tainted is original to me, (as far as I know) and admittedly subversive.

4. Urin son of Turin is also an AU Sil character of mine. He is mentioned in a couple of other stories; 'Rangers of the North' and 'The Awakening'. After the War of Wrath he went east over the mountains rather than west to Numenor, and a number of the Edain followed him. He had a powerful philosophical influence on the remaining Feanori, Elrond Half-Elven, the Runedain of the Downlands and Weather Hills and later the Dunedain of the North.

5. Arianlos and Arwen are talking about Maglor, who the Second Age Elven emissaries Morinehtar and Romestamo discovered working against the Shadow among the Men of the East. Though persuaded to visit his sister and daughter in the West Maglor has asked that his identity be kept secret. This is not difficult as he has changed beyond all recognition, being both blind and aged like a Mortal Man by his trials.


	16. Family Council

The time of reckoning had at last arrived, Aragorn thought wryly, looking at his relatives gathered in the Queen's parlor. Aunt Ellian was talking to her grandchildren Belegon and Silevril and Silevril's husband Glindur seated in the Queen's chair of state, which was no doubt contrary to strict Gondorian protocol but here in the North age had its privileges. Gilvagor stood by the windows, shaking his head over something the twins, Ereinion and Ellenion, were telling him. And Arwen was listening attentively to advice and anecdotes on childrearing from Beruthiel, Region, Belegon's wife Finduilas, Aranel and Angwen. Aragorn himself had been talking to Nienor, Halbarad's daughter, giving her news of her brothers. Now he conducted her to a chair near Aunt Ellian, and sat down himself. The others caught the signal and gathered round, taking their places on the chairs and couches grouped before the empty hearth.

Aragorn turned first to Gilvagor. "How much did Beomann have to do with the Cardolanrim's petition?"

His young cousin smiled wryly. "Quite a lot. He's spent much of his time over the last year or so pointing out the advantages of a Kingdom to Men and Hobbits worried about the new settlers."

"He's right though," Belegon put in mildly, "the new people from the South are more likely to respect the formal authority of a King then the wishes of hardscrabble villagers. And they can't be expected to understand about clan territories and resting fields and the like."

Aragorn nodded. "A thought that had occurred to me as well. We can and should welcome our Southern kin to settle here in the North, but on our terms." he smiled at Belegon. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you who I intend to name as King of Cardolan."

"No indeed." Belegon said resignedly. "I know the land and the people and I am of the Royal House. I am the obvious choice."

"It's just a name." Gilvagor offered consolingly. "It will be no different from being Captain of the South."

"It will be very different." Aragorn corrected firmly. He expected trouble on this point. His people and his kin were reluctant to abandon their accustomed ways, nor did they see any good reason for doing so. That would have to change. "Why do you think I am rebuilding Cardol? I intend Belegon to live there, once it is fit for habitation, and to keep a King's state."

"Yes I see," said Region, "if we are to convince the Southerners we are kingdom and not a rabble we must look like a kingdom."

"Exactly." Aragorn agreed with a smile for his foster sister. "Besides the Rhudaurim expect their City to be rebuilt and a King to be installed there as in the Old Days, it would be unjust not to do as much for the Cardolanrim."

"And you will make your court at Fornost as of Old?" Gilvagor asked.

Now they came to it. "No." Aragorn said quietly. "You will."

"You intend to make Annuminas the High King's seat again?" Aunt Ellian frowned. "I am not sure that is wise Aragorn. The arguments that led Amlaith to abandon Elendil's City for all but ceremonial usage still hold good. It is too remote, you will be isolated from the rest of the Kingdom, especially the Marches."

"I agree." her nephew replied. "Annuminas will remain a City of ceremony and the meeting place of the Kings of the North. And it will be my residence when I am in Arnor, but I mean to make Gondor my chief seat." There, it was out.

For a moment all simply stared at him, not believing their ears, then Nienor cried; "You can't do that, Aragorn, Arnor has always been the High Kingdom!"

"We have not fought the Shadow this thousand years to end up subject to the South!" Gilvagor said fiercely, a dangerous light smoldering in his eye.

"I do not mean to make Arnor subject to Gondor," Aragorn snapped back, stung, "or Gondor to Arnor for that matter. Each Kingdom will have its own council and its own law just as in Elendil's day. Gilvagor, you will be King of Arthedain and my viceroy here in the North-"

"Do not think to bribe me with a throne!" Gilvagor blazed.

Aragorn's own temper stirred. "I expect you to obey your Chief, Captain!"

"Boys!" Aunt Ellian said sharply.

Her two nephews glared at each other a moment more, then took careful breaths and with visible effort let go of their anger.

"It is not a bribe, Gilya, I need you to stand as my deputy, as you always have." Aragorn said quietly.

"I am sorry, Father," Gilvagor answered as softly, "I shouldn't have said that, I know better." his voice broke, sounding now grieved rather than angry; "But why?"

"Yes," said Aunt Ellian, "why, Aragorn? you must have good reasons for this decision of yours, share them with us."

"Gondor needs me more than the North." he answered.

"That's not true." said Gilvagor. "The South has done very well without a King for a thousand years."

"She has not." Aragorn answered emphatically. "She has done very ill indeed. She is sick to the heart, devastated by her long wars, and surrounded by foes. I cannot abandon her."

"But you can abandon us." Gilvagor said bitterly.

"Not abandon." Arwen said quickly, before Aragorn's temper could surge again. "We mean to spend time here in the North. Not much at first perhaps, but more later once affairs in Gondor are settled. But for now her state is precarious and requires Aragorn's chief attention. Sauron is fallen but Gondor still has powerful enemies in Rhun and Harad."

"We are not exactly lacking in powerful enemies ourselves." Gilvagor pointed out grimly. "Evil didn't die with Sauron. There are other powers and freed from his domination they will grow stronger."

"But we have powers of our own with which to meet them." Aragorn answered. "And we need not now work in secret."

"This is the Age of Men," Arwen argued softly. "now we are the stronger. But in the South it is our fellow Men who threaten us, not fading powers from the Elder Days."

"Fading perhaps, but not quite gone, not yet." said Gilvagor. "It may be you are right, Aragorn, but I cannot say I like this decision of yours. And our people will like it even less."

"I know it well." Aragorn agreed wryly. "And I expect to hear about it in no uncertain terms."

That got a general smile. The peoples of the North were nothing if not plainspoken, nor did they hesitate to speak their minds even to the highest.

"And what of my mother?" Aunt Ellian asked. "What does she think of this policy of yours, Aragorn?"

"She was not pleased." he answered steadily. "But now that she has seen Gondor she understands the necessity."

"Very well," said Gilvagor, resigned but not reconciled, "if I am to be King of Arthedain then who will you give to the Rhudaurim for their King?"

"The next in blood, according to Rhudaurian law," Aragorn smiled. "your sister's son."

"Daeron?" Aranel said, startled. "But he is just a child. Surely Ereinion or Ellenion would be the better choice."

"No." said Beruthiel's elder son firmly. "The Princes of the Angle have always been subject to the Lords of the Marches, it would not do to overturn that."

"The Lords of the Marches have been masters in their own house for years uncounted." Aragorn agreed. "Borgil is sincere in his request for the restoration of their ancient Kingdom but it would come hard to him to obey rather than rule at his age. And that makes a child King ideal. By the time Daeron is of age Borgil will be old and ready to give over affairs to younger hands. And Borogund, his son, having had no expectation of rule will feel no deprivation."

"That is well thought of." Aunt Ellian nodded. "Borgil will no doubt appreciate the arrangement - all the more if he guesses the reason for it."

"I hope so." said Aragorn. And then went on to tell them the rest of his plans.

Beomann Butterbur knew the moment he opened the door that something was seriously wrong. Gilvagor swept past him into the apartment wearing the frozen expression that meant he was holding in one of those rare, but frightening flares of royal wrath. He seated himself at the desk, pulled parchment and inkwell to him, dipped his pen and began to write in swift, slashing strokes.

Beomann poured a cup of wine and put it on the desk near his hand. "You know, Gil," he managed to say quite casually, "it would be a lot more comfortable if you'd just shout and throw things when you're angry like regular folk.

Gilvagor's eyes came up, and after a heart stopping moment the chill stare relaxed into a rueful smile. "No doubt. Unfortunately my upbringing won't allow it."

"What did the King do?" his squire asked, nerves unclenching. Fronting an angry Isildurion never gets easy, no matter how often one does it.

"I like the quickness of your conclusions." Gilvagor said almost lightly, picking up the cup. "Why should Aragorn be the cause of my bad temper?"

"Because you were fine when you left for the big family council." Beomann replied. "Now you're not. So what's Strider done?"

His master hesitated a moment, then shrugged. "You'll hear about it at the council tomorrow, there's no reason not to tell you now. The King, in his wisdom, has decided to make his seat in the South."

Beomann blinked, then frowned. "He can't do that."

"He can, and means to, and may even be right to do so." Gilvagor answered with an edge to his voice, "but that doesn't mean I have to like it!"

His squire shook his head. "He can't do it." he repeated. "It's not right."

Gilvagor sighed, anger beginning to ebb. "He has his reasons."

"I don't care. We've got first claim on him, he'll have to change his mind." Beomann's own temper was rising even as his master's fell. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I'd like to take the chance to tell him so."

Gilvagor looked at him startled, then laughed. "A true battle of giants! But I fear Aragorn is even more stubborn than you, my squire. Nevertheless you may try if you like."

Aragorn heard the knock at the bedchamber door and the brisk country voice asking to "See the King's Grace if he's awake." and put down the papers he'd been reading. "Beomann?" at his nod the esquire blocking the door stepped aside and the Breelander came in, the light of battle in his eye. Gilya's told him.

"I'd like a word with you, sir, if you please."

"Of course." Aragorn rose from his chair to greet his guest.

Beomann glanced around. As the King had not yet submitted himself to the lengthy and elaborate ceremony of preparing for bed the chamber was rather full of esquires and gentlemen attendants waiting to do their duty.

"In private." the Breelander said firmly, took his King by the arm and steered him into a window embrasure at the far end of the room.

Aragorn wished briefly but earnestly that he could see the looks on the faces of his Gondorian attendants then gave his entire attention to Beomann.

"You can't do it, Strider." the Breelander told him, and Aragorn noticed he'd learned the Ranger trick of pitching his voice to reach no farther than the ears it was meant for. "I don't care what the situation is down South. Gil's been doing your job on top of his own for nigh on five years now, it's enough and too much. You've got a duty to us and it's past time you got back to it!"

I thought that was it. It didn't really matter to Beomann where Aragorn chose to keep his court, it was the burden he was putting upon his younger kinsman that the Breelander objected too, like the loyal squire he was.

"They tell me you've spent a lot of time in Cardolan," he answered, "you must have heard enough from the new settlers to have a pretty good idea how bad things are in the South."

Beomann bit his lip. "It's not exactly feasting and dancing up here either." he pointed out.

"I know that too. And I know that I have asked more of Gilvagor than I should," Aragorn smiled bleakly, "and have done since he was younger than you. Circumstances gave me no choice.

"The Kingdoms in Exile are too far apart to be ruled directly by one Man, as Elendil learned long ago." he continued quietly. "If I had a kinsman who knew and was known in Gondor I could make him my vice-regent in the South and take up my own seat in Fornost or Annuminas. But my kin know and are known only in the North and so I must entrust Arnor to them and wear the crown of Gondor myself.

"But I don't mean to ride away tomorrow, Beomann. I will stay a year, or two, or as long as is necessary to put the realm in order and see my young kinsmen firm seated on their thrones. Will that content you?"

Beomann let out a breath. "I suppose it'll have to." He looked unhappy. "It sounds like plain common sense when you put it like that. But it doesn't seem fair for the South to get you after throwing the Kings out in the first place."

"That was long ago, and they have more than paid for it." Aragorn answered.

The Breelander sighed again. "That's true too, from all I hear tell."

Aragorn showed his visitor, still disatisfied but resigned, out himself. He closed the door gently behind Beomann, then turned to gauge the reaction of his Gondorim. The iron discipline of their strict etiquette held - but barely. It didn't take any great perception to detect the shock, incredulity and indignation seething behind those proper masks.

The King carefully hid his own amusement. "I am ready to retire now." he said as blandly as if nothing unusual had happened. Which indeed it had not, by the standards of the North.


	17. The Council of the North

"I don't quite understand why Strider wants Ted and me at this council of his." Barliman Butterbur said to his son over an early breakfast.

"To represent Bree." Beomann explained patiently. "We're part of the realm now, that means we get a say in its affairs."

Barliman and Ted Tunnelly exchanged dubious looks. Bree didn't want outsiders meddling in her affairs, so it stood to reason those outsiders wouldn't appreciate Bree meddling in theirs.

The council was held in a large circular room on the second floor of Elendil's tower. A huge, round table carved of deep blue stone and inlaid with a mosaic map of the Northlands stood at its center with dozens of chairs ranged around it.

There were a good number of Rangers present, Barliman recognized Gil and Aranel, Belegon and their Aunt Lady Ellian, as well as Beomann's friend Dan. And the Easterner Borgil was there too with some of his folk, including young Connegund. And Men of the simple country kind as well like that Osbert Attmeade from the Angle, and Will Greenroot from South of the Road. And a mort of Hobbits: the Thain and young Mr. Pippin, Master Saradoc and Mr. Merry, and Samwise Gamgee, as well as strangers from the River Villages and the south country. And some Dwarves and Elves including the King of the Lake. And some of the Southland folk the King had brought with him.

They all milled around for a bit; the Rangers looking grim as usual, the Easterners pleased and excited, and the other country folk as nervous as Barliman felt. The Dwarves stood in separate clumps, not talking to anybody. But the Elves chatted easily among themselves and with the Rangers like it was a party. And the Southlanders stared at everybody as if they'd never seen their like before.

Finally, right as a bell somewhere tolled three times, Strider came in with the Queen and people began finding seats at the table. "Here, Dad," Beomann materialized at his shoulder, "you and Ted sit here."

Barliman found himself placed next to a strange Ranger, a few seats down from Gil, with Lady Aranel on Ted's other side and the Easterner Borgil beyond her. Then more Rangers and Osbert Attmeade, still more Rangers, Belegon, Will Greenroot and a Hobbit dressed in the same rough clothes, yet more Rangers, then a Man and Hobbit from the River Villages by the looks of them. The Shire Hobbits sat nearest the King and the Elves and the Dwarves were all on the other side of the table, to the left of the Queen.

A lot of people were left standing; the Southlanders behind the King, Beomann and Dan behind Gil, Connegund and the other Easterners behind Borgil, and even more Rangers behind the seated ones.

When everybody was settled in their place Strider began to talk: "In Days of Old the Kings were advised by a Great Council made up of all the peoples under his rule so, following their example, I have summoned you all to advise me on how best to rebuild the North."

Barliman just hoped the King wasn't counting to hard on Bree for advice. Building kingdoms was a bit out of his league - and old Ted's too.

"Long years ago King Arveleg swore to restore the Kingdom of Rhudaur. Now, at last, that promise can be kept. Borgil son of Borondir, I am minded to name my nephew Turamarth son of Ingloron, Heir of Urin and Prince of Endorien King of Rhudaur. If he is acceptable to your people."

Borgil blinked, plainly startled. "Young Daeron?" then recovered himself. "Your choice is acceptable to us, Dunadan, he is of the Line of Isildur on his mother's side. But he is too young to reign."

"That is so." Strider agreed. "You, my Lord of the Marches, must serve as his regent and protector of the realm until King Turamarth is of age, which will be no easy task. I give the land and people of Angmar to Rhudaur as a free province under the High King's law." there was a stirring around the table and Borgil frowned.

"That will come hard, Dunadan. I'd rather serve them as they served our folk back in Argeleb's time."

Strider smiled at him. "You are a far better Man than that, Borgil. There was a time when all Men served the Shadow. My fathers and yours came back to their right allegiance. The Hill Men will do so too - in time."

Borgil smiled wryly. "Now I see why you give us Urin's heir for our King." then he sobered. "They will betray your trust, Dunadan."

"No doubt some will." the King agreed calmly. "But others will not. It is a risk we must take." he turned his head slightly. "Captain Ingold." one of the Southern officers, encased in steel under a silver edged black cloak, stepped forward. "Lord Borgil, I am placing the Captain and his company under your command. I trust you have no objections?"

The Easterner looked amused. "With the Northern tribes and the Orcs of Mount Gram and Gundobar on my hands I am ready to welcome any help that is offered."

"You'll have ours as well, Borgil." the black haired Dwarf Lord Curumaith told him and smiled grimly. "We'll not leave Durin's birthplace in the hands of Orcs."

"Or leave it to Men to retake it." said the redheaded Dwarf next to him.

"Thank you, Lord Phazgan," said the King, "but we will need your help in clearing Moria, I would ask you to leave Gundobar to the Broadbelts."

The Dwarf thought about it for a moment then nodded. "Very well. We might as well finish what we started."

"Will Greenroot and Swithun Delver." Man and Hobbit started a little as the King turned to them. "I would give the scepter of Cardolan to my kinsman Belegon son of Belecthor of the House of the Great Bow, Prince of Carnarthon, if that is acceptable to you."

It took Mr. Greenroot a moment to unravel this. "You mean Longbow?" the King nodded, eyes glinting amusement and the Man gave a sigh of relief. "Well why didn't you say so? Yes, he'll suit us fine."

"Belegon," the King continued, "I am giving the Enedwaith to Cardolan." Longbow didn't seem at all pleased at having his territory doubled. "We cannot have the Gwathuirim raiding the South Road and interfering with the rebuilding of Cardol and Tharbad. They have been in a chastened mood since the disastrous end of their alliance with Saruman there will never be a better time to conciliate them."

"Or to try to." said Belegon dryly. "Even Elendil failed with the Gwathuirim, but I will try"

Strider called another one of those outlandish King-folk names. "Captain Belegorn." and a second Southland soldier stepped forward. "Belegon, I am sure you will find good use for the Captain and his company."

"Indeed I will." Longbow agreed and smiled at the Man, who blinked almost as if dazzled..

Amazing the change a smile made, Butterbur reflected, Rangers looked like entirely different Men when they did it. Pity they didn't do it more often.

"The land of Hollin was Elven land of old and its lordship devolves by right upon Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond Half-Elven." the King continued. "Elladan will be warden of the land north of Hollin Ridge subject to the scepter of Rhudaur. And Elrohir lord of Hollin south of the ridge under the scepter of Cardolan."

"The Gwathuirim and Moria!" Belegon exclaimed. "Thank you very much, Aragorn."

"You will have my help with Moria." said Elrohir.

"And ours as well." put in Phazgan.

"And King Eomer's aid with the Gwathuirim." said Strider, then continued; "I would like to see Hollin re-peopled. Osbert," the Man from the Angle looked up. "your folk are in the best position to do so, North Hollin is just across the Loudwater."

Attmead looked interested. "Is it good farmland?"

"I have no idea." Strider admitted and looked at the Queen's two brothers who shrugged helplessly.

"The land near the river is fertile enough." said an Elf farther down the table. "but it grows less so as you get closer to the mountains. Pasture rather than farmland I would say."

Osbert raised his eyebrows. "Now how would you be knowing that, Gilfanon?"

"I spent time in Hollin when I was young and my kin dwelt there." the Elf replied. "And I remember there were gardens along the river and hunting parks in the highlands."

Osbert grinned. "Handy having friends thousand of years old isn't it?"

"Sometimes." said the King, several of the other Rangers including Gil, and the Dwarf Curumaith in rough chorus. And a grin flashed its way round the table briefly lighting up the usually grim Ranger faces.

"I have brought with me stone masons, carpenters and other craftsmen from Gondor to begin the work of rebuilding the ancient cities of Fornost and Cardol," Strider continued, "and to raise a tower and fortress of guard upon Amon Sul as in the Old Days. Lord Curumaith and Lord Phazgan have promised to send us wrights to help with the work, as have the Elves of Amon Geleidh and Imladris."

"Don't worry," Curumaith assured his fellow Dwarf in an all to audible whisper, "Deep Elves aren't like Wood Elves, you'll get along fine."

Another grin, in fact a near chuckle, circled the table.

"I trust so," said the King straight faced. "But if not we Men are accustomed to keeping the peace between our Elder Kin. Barliman Butterbur," the innkeeper jumped, "I hear from Gilvagor that you have undertaken to keep the builders supplied with food and other necessities. Thank you."

"Er, you're welcome." he managed to stammer. "It's no trouble, all in the way of business - and Bree can always use a bit more custom."

Strider nodded politely then, to Barliman's relief, turned his eyes to a silver haired Ranger sitting just beyond the Shire Hobbits. "The Lindons are now part of Arthedain, Grandfather, those parts of South Lindon inhabited by Men will be appended to the Principality of Dor-en-Dunhirion."

The old Ranger - Strider's grandfather? how old did that make him? - nodded acceptance. And the King continued. "North Lindon will be a new lordship under the wardenship of Ciryandil son of Aerindur." and the Ranger next to Barliman bowed his head.

The King paused to take breath and Beomann, standing behind his father, muttered "Here it comes." Here what came?

"Gilvagor," Strider said, "you are still next in blood after my daughter and my chief lieutenant and deputy. To you I give the scepter of Arthedain and the viceregency of the Northlands." the Ranger next to Barliman stiffened and down the table Borgil frowned darkly at the King. "Annuminas will be the High King's seat here in the North but Gondor must be, for now, my first home."

"What!" Borgil surged to his feet red with outrage. "Arnor is the High Kingdom and always has been!" Osbert Attmead looked pretty upset too, but the Rangers didn't move a muscle or say a word.

"I have a responsibility to my people in the South no less than to you in the North." The King replied, a steely edge to his voice. "Sauron is fallen but Gondor is still threatened by the kingdoms of Harad and Rhun. I accepted the crown of Gondor would you have me break faith with her?"

Borgil wavered a little under that grimly piercing gaze, but not much. "Elendil appointed deputies to rule in Gondor."

"So would I had I any kinsman who knew and was known in the South as were Isildur and Anarion." Strider answered. "But my kin are known only in the North therefore I must trust the North to them and take up the rule of Gondor myself." he softened his tone. "I do not mean to make the Kingdoms of Arnor subject to Gondor, nor Gondor to the North either. Both realms will be governed by their own laws and their own councils as in the Days of Old and I will be High King equally over both. When Gondor is secure the Queen and I will be able to spend more time here at Annuminas but for now the Southland needs my presence."

"Borgil," the Man, stymied but not mollified, looked at Gil who continued gently: "I don't like it any better than you do, but Aragorn is right. This is how it must be, at least for now."

Borgil sat down, face still thunderous, and the Easterners behind him looked no happier. The Rangers on the other hand looked exactly as they always did - so why did Barliman feel twitchy, like there was a storm coming?

Hirgon found himself appointed to the service of the new King of Arthedain which promised to be uncomfortable duty as he was in no doubt at all about the mood of his Northern Kinsmen. Hirgon was Dunedain himself with the usual high temper - and the usual strict training in controlling it - so it wasn't at all hard for him to gauge the degree of anger the Northerners were keeping tightly leashed. However the laws of hospitality held and the Arnorim were as formally and distantly polite as ever to their Southern kin. The Gondorim's discomfort was chiefly due to guilt. The enormity of King Elessar abandoning his own loyal Northerners for the Kingdom that had denied him and his for so many long centuries had never occurred to any of them - until now.

In fact, Hirgon thought bitterly, not one of them had spared any thought at all for the North or the Dunedain who lived there - as usual. They had simply assumed Elessar would make Gondor his home and chief concern. By now he had heard and seen enough to realize the Northern Dunedain's troubles were at least as bad as their own. Did Gondor really have a greater need for the King than the Lost Realm?

Elessar apparently thought that they did. The Arnorim respectfully disagreed - and made their feelings known in no uncertain terms. The Southerners were shocked, even offended, by the freedom and familiarity with which the Northerners treated the King but a little envious too, for all that they had firmly repulsed Elessar's attempts to establish a similar relationship with them.

Perhaps, Hirgon thought bleakly, they dared not let the King come down off his pedestal. For if they ever allowed themselves see him as a Man rather than a legend come to life, they would have to face their own guilt for the hard and bitter years he'd passed in hiding, hunted by the Dark Lord, with the burden of Kingship but none of the power.

Gondor wasn't ready for that. Even when she'd acclaimed Elessar King she had admitted to no fault. She wanted to pretend the thousand year denial of the throne to the true King had never happened, and Elessar was magnanimous enough to let her. But Hirgon knew such self deception couldn't last. Gondor had always prided herself upon her honor. Sooner or later her own conscience would force her to face the past - and pay for it.

Aragorn stationed himself in the King's Square before the Palace, as the custom was, to hear the petitions and protests of his people - and there were plenty of the latter! He sent a group of complainants away, unconvinced but thoughtful, and turned to find Gilvagor at his shoulder.

"Feeling a bit beleaguered?" his foster son asked, a glint of slightly malicious amusement in his eye.

"Not at all." Aragorn answered dryly. "It makes a refreshing change. When my Southern subjects are offended with me I have to guess why, they'd never dream of telling me."

Gilvagor arched a brow. "That must be uncomfortable."

"Very." Aragorn agreed grimly. "Not to mention maddening at times." he shrugged wearily. "Either the Anarioni enjoyed playing guessing games - or they didn't care what their people thought."

"Of course we have rather let standards slide these last centuries." Gilvagor pointed out mildly. "Perhaps our people have not always been so forward."

"Oh yes they have, or so my wife says. The Men of the North always spoke their minds to their lords, back to Elendil himself."

Gilvagor laughed. "Perhaps it is the Runedain influence."

"Perhaps," Aragorn agreed. "If so I hope they influence my Gondorim as well."


	18. Signed And Sealed

The hall of the Breelanders' house was full of people; tall King's Folk in their rich velvets and silks -Strider and Gil and assorted attendants -then the eight envoys from Bree and finally their wives and families all crowded in the corners and lining the stair and gallery. Three copies of the new charter lay on the long center table, one in High Elvish; one in regular Elvish and the last in good old Westron, all beautifully written and illuminated.

Barliman Butterbur stood frowning down at the last, giving it one final read over. "Which of these new kingdoms did you say we were in again?"

"Mine, Arthedain." Gil answered, then laughed at the look on his face. "I promise, you will scarce notice the difference."

"I am hoping that he will." Strider said quietly.

"Me too." said Beomann with emphasis.

Gil grinned at Barliman and shrugged. "See how I am overmatched! Very well, I promise whatever difference you see will be for the better."

Beomann nodded approval. "Bree will still run her own affairs, Dad, that's what the charter is for."

Changes, Barliman thought gloomily, nothing but changes. Still, as long as Bree herself was let alone...

Strider took the golden pen one of his knights handed him and put his names in Elvish letters on the first charter. "This is for the archive here in Annuminas." he explained, then moved on to the second to sign another set of names Barliman couldn't read. "This one is for Gil to keep at Fornost." finally he came to the last document and wrote 'Elfstone the King' in plain letters. "And this copy is for Bree."

Strider handed the pen to Gil who surprised Barliman by writing 'Gil the Rover' under the King's signature before moving back to put Elvish names to the other two. Then it was Barliman's turn.

Holding the pen he looked uncertainly at the unintelligible first charter. "Just sign your name as you usually would." Gil said. So he put his plain 'B. Butterbur' on all three parchments. Then it was Ted's turn, and after him the other envoys.

There were a few more words and courtesies before Strider and Gil took themselves off, along with their folk and the Elvish charters, leaving the Breelanders clustered around their own copy. "The Tree and Star is the seal of the High Kingdom." Beoman told his father, pointing to a blob of black wax at the bottom of the parchment. "and here next to it is the Star of the North Kingdom. This cipher here is the King's personal seal, and the star and sword is Gil's." The King's was in green wax and Gil's in blue and at the very end was another green seal. "And this," Beomann said, touching it with a proud finger, "Is Bree's seal; the Hill and Sun."

"I didn't know we had a seal." Barliman said in surprise.

Beomann grinned at him. "Me neither. But we do - and there it is."

His father looked at the Hill and Sun stamped there next to the signs of Kings and Kingdoms. "Seems Bree was a pretty important place in the Old Days." he said slowly.

"Very important." Beomann answered firmly. "And she will be again."

But Barliman's thoughts were running in another direction. ' There's always been a Bree - Kingdoms or no Kingdoms. Maybe Gil's right, maybe it won't make such a difference to us after all - except for a bit more custom from respectable people on the Road which is all to the good.'

Father and son gave way to other Breelanders wanting a close look at the new charter and moved together towards the open front door. "So what happens now?" Barliman asked.

"Well we still have to hold the enscepterings for the under-kings; Gil, Belegon and little Daeron." his son answered. "After that everybody goes home and gets to work. I'll escort you lot back to Bree, then Gil and I will travel up to Norbury to start the rebuilding and Belegon will do the same down at Sudbury. The King's going to be moving around, seeing to things, probably pass through Bree any number of times. And they'll be plenty of traffic between the Angle and the Shire and the new cities. Lots of custom for the Pony, and the Forsaken too."

"That'll be fine." Barliman said, and meant it. He was beginning to get his head around this new order of things and had just about decided it wouldn't be so bad after all.

Beomann grinned. "And don't be surprised if Conn pops up one day soon. He's sweet on May - Hill and Wood alone know why!"

Barliman looked at his eldest in dismay. Now there was an awful thought. What if his May should take it into her head to marry young Conn? Not that he didn't seem a nice enough lad but he'd take her off to some outlandish place leagues and leagues away and they'd never see her again!

Then a second thought, almost as unwelcome, struck him; what if Beomann brought one of those solemn, silent Ranger girls with him when he came home for good? Not that the Rangers hadn't turned out to be decent enough folk in their way but Barliman didn't fancy one for a daughter-in-law - and he knew Ishbel wouldn't!

"Changes." he said aloud. "Naught but changes."

"I know." Beomann answered sympathetically. "But don't worry, Dad, Bree'll stay Bree. Maybe a little richer and little less lonely but that's all." he looked out, over the roofs of the houses, at the golden domes of the Palace glowing against the blue sky and squared his shoulders with an almost Ranger-like look of grim determination on his face.

"Still a lot to be done before the North is back as it should be. But we've made a good start." then he flashed a smile at his father. "And it'll be a fine thing to have a King and Kingdom again, Dad. You'll see."


End file.
